You Are My Road
by ymirschristas
Summary: In 16th Century Constantinople, the culture is colourful, and the wars even more so. Krista, the illegitimate daughter of a bookshop owner, seeks friendship and comfort in a world that does not want her, whilst Ymir, an orphaned apprentice of a fishmonger, seeks to live up to the legend of her ancestry. When they cross paths, their roads become one.
1. I - Krista

"_I am a traveler, You are my road.  
I go from You to You."_

_ \- Zeynep Hatun_

* * *

**I - Krista  
**_Year 1508_

* * *

Mornings were her favourite time of the day.

It was the rising sun over Constantinople which had reddened her cheeks. The rays had caressed her skin and shook her awake. It was the warmth that gave her the purpose she craved, the purpose of life that drove her to live to the full each day.

Mornings were when she would wake up before six to cook breakfast for her father, and have a small cup of Turkish coffee. The breakfast she cooked she would keep warm by the stove, waiting for her father to wake up and eat. After getting dressed, she would pick up a few of the books she had brought home to read and find her way walking down the narrow roads of her city.

From where she lived, it was only at least a fifteen minute walk to the Grand Bazaar. As she walked, she passed by water-bearers, fishmongers, bakers and other people whom were already set about their business for the day. The sky held hues of pink, blue and purple, which contested for power in the heavens. And the sun –

Krista breathed in deeply. The sun was _breathtaking_. It created a spectrum of affectionate colours upon the stones of the buildings, upon the early shadows, upon her face of ivory.

When she turned the last street, there stood one of the few entrances to the Grand Bazaar. Though most of the population was not yet awake, there was a good number of shopkeepers moving around, making the preparations to open their stores. The Bazaar was a mixture of armories, tailors, bakers, spice vendors, carpet vendors, and so much more.

She made her way to where her bookstore was – actually, it was her father's, but that didn't matter. It was his name in the papers, it was him whom received the money, but truly, it was her heart that carried the business. Her passion for literature, her love for poetry and prose which kept it running. Krista went behind the counter and began taking the cloths off the books. Quickly, she dusted the covers with the palm of her hand, and as she went through the spines on her bookshelf, she felt her own fingers trace their golden titles.

Sighing, she sat on her stool and pulled the wooden box from under the counter, making sure she had enough change for customers.

The morning passed slowly, and she was left to her daily pondering of whether there was something else out there for her. She was…satisfied with her life, but perhaps there was some…something else – just _something_. The very word made her teeth grind because she couldn't understand – she didn't know what she really wanted, or what she was searching for, and it was frustrating. She cursed her mind for dwelling on places where it wasn't meant to dwell. It was her place, as a woman, to do what her father told her, not to seek other pleasures or desires.

It was nearly lunch when she came back down to earth. The crowds became thicker, but they mostly flocked around the stalls aside from her own. The bookstore did have a big following, but today, none of the usual customers of scholars were around.

Krista placed one of her books on the counter and began to flick through the pages, uninterested. She had read it at least five times over and almost memorized it cover to cover. Her mind began swirling with the poetry of Ovid, until-

"Is that Metamorphoses?"

A husky voice compelled her to look up in surprise.

There stood a tall, freckled brunette with piercing, amber eyes. Her trousers were ragged, tied around her waist with a long piece of rope, and seemed like they were crafted from potato sacks. Her clothes reeked of fish and crabmeat, and of the salty Bosphorus Sea. Krista felt her heart flutter – she was the most attractive woman she had ever had the pleasure of seeing. She simply stared at her, mouth slightly agape.

"Are you going to answer me?" The brunette asked, putting her hands against her hips.

Nodding her head, Krista regained her composure. "Y-yes – yes, this is Metamorphoses. Have you read it before?"

Her ponytail shook. "No, I haven't. Is that copy for sale?"

"No, I'm sorry – this is my copy. But I could request an order for it if you want."

"No, no, it's okay, I uh, I wouldn't have the money to buy it anyway."

Krista smiled. "So what brings you here?"

"I just thought I'd go for a stroll here. Saw this shop. Got curious. Any customers?"

"Sadly, business is not good today."

For a good thirty seconds they eyed each other in silence, both smiling, Krista more obvious, showing teeth, with the brunette girl only lifting the corners of her mouth.

The girl then chuckled. "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Ymir."

"And I'm," _what's my name again? _The blonde thought, "I'm Krista."

"Well, from what I have seen so far, Krista, you're very interested in poems."

Grinning even wider, Krista agreed with a short, happy sigh. "Yes, good observation, Ymir. Do you have a favourite poet in mind?"

"I would say…Rumi. Or perhaps Hafiz." Ymir leaned in and rested her elbow on the counter.

"How romantic. I wouldn't have seen you as the type."

"No?"

"No."

"Is it because I'm dressed like a beggar?" Ymir grinned. "It's bad to judge a book by its cover, _ҫiҫek_."

"I assure you, I am no flower!" Krista harrumphed. "Well I suppose, I was judging a little bit."

"Truth be told, I'm a humble person working on the docks and on the ships. I catch the finest fish. I am the best!" The brunette raised her arms and shook her hands with pizzazz.

"Oh?" Krista giggled. "Why don't we strike a deal, then?"

"Go ahead. I'm listening."

"Come by again tomorrow, with the freshest, finest fish. For that, I'll give you my copy of Metamorphoses."

"Hm. I'm not sure how I'll manage to snatch one from under the noses of my superiors, but for you _ҫiҫek_, the best fish in the sea." Ymir bowed dramatically. "I will see you tomorrow then."

With that, she left and disappeared into the crowd of the Grand Bazaar.

Meanwhile, Krista sat there, mind elsewhere, thinking about her. How she had somehow poured spice into her day and made that small difference. People like that rarely make such an entrance. Her thoughts then wandered into the image of the girl's freckles, and she pictured connecting them one by one, all the tiny stars on her face –

"Miss?"

An awaiting customer stared down at her, eyebrows raised.

"Oh! I'm sorry," she said, "were you interested in buying a book?" She had forgotten that she was operating the store, that there were actually other customers to serve.

"Some scrolls, actually. Maps, perhaps?"

"Of course, let me have a look around for you…"

###

At dinner that evening, they were quiet as usual. There was really nothing to be said. She knew what he did all day. Mooching up to the high priests and the politicians near Topkap׀ Palace. He was a man of middle build, with cropped hair and a moustache that swept his upper lip. From a first glance, no one would think that he was anyone important, but truthfully, he was a man of great power. What power, Krista had no idea of. He never bothered to tell her. After all, she was only his bastard.

But perhaps her meeting with Ymir was a signal of change. So, she spoke.

"So…Father, it wasn't too busy today."

He grunted through a mouthful of _bazlama._

"None of the usual customers. Perhaps a scholar or two, and even this…this girl."

His silence should have discouraged her to continue speaking, but she couldn't help herself. Suddenly the chickpeas on her plate became the source of her for idle entertainment.

"She works at the docks. I don't think she has any family. I wonder where she lives. Perhaps not too far from the sea. Do you happen to know any fishermen, Father?"

He shook his head. At this point, he had stopped eating and began to stare at her with odd indifference and warning. "Do not climb into the walls of people," he said. "It is none of your business to tread in their cities."

Krista shrunk. "It's just…I've never had a friend, and…she just seemed like she'd be a good one."

"You know why I've made you stay away from kids before."

To this day, she could still feel the rough edge of the stones that had cut across her cheek and her forehead. To this day, she remembered the names they called her. To this day, she remembered why it was forbidden for her to utter her _real _name. To even _think _of it.

"I know," she replied, voice turning thick. "But…she doesn't know me, Father. And I won't tell her. I won't give the slightest hint that I'm H-"

"Enough." He wiped his mouth with a piece of cloth, hands curling into fists. "Just…just see to it that nothing becomes so serious between you two that you let something slip."

He stood up, tossed the cloth on the table and began to head upstairs. "Do the dishes, clean everything up, and then go straight to bed."

Relieved that her Father gave her the blessing of making a friend, she gave an absentminded nod. "Yes…Father."

###

That night she dreamt, she dreamt of the ocean and the tall, freckled girl who tamed it.

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

__ҫiҫek - flower__

__bazlama - single-layered, flat, circular and leavened bread with a creamish yellow colour__


	2. II - Ymir

**II - Ymir**

* * *

As the day struck noon, Ymir hastily held to the latest net that pulled. The rays above glared down at her already-sunbathed arms, the yellow awash upon her bronzed skin. Her sleeves were folded back up to her shoulders, exhibiting rippling muscles that have been branded on from years and years of hard labour. The air was filled with the clamor of her fellow fishermen, of those coming in to dock their _qayїk_. There were clapping ripples of turquoise sea against the barnacle-ridden docks, and soaring seagulls against the long sunshine.

"_Hadi, hadi!_" Shadis barked. "Quickly, bring it up! Looks like it's a big one!"

Ymir's mentor-figure was a bald man with sunken, dried-up eyes that made it look as if he hadn't slept in days. A sharp, brown goatee decorated his chin. When Ymir was absolutely dirt-poor and clawing for coin in the streets, he taught her the art of fishing and gave her a job at his small, but thriving business. Though they aren't close, or as close as one would think between a trainee and a trainer, Ymir has always been grateful for his help.

"Okay, Sasha, we'll do it at my count," said Ymir to the girl on the other side of the net. "_Bir, iki, üҫ!_"

Together, they lifted the net with a few grunts. It was pleasantly heavy – pleasant, because that meant more fish. More fish, well, more coin. They slapped the net upon the dock and let go of the strings. The fishes' scales glittered dreamily and hazily underneath the sun as they bounced up and down. It was mainly a school of _uskumru_, but amongst it laid a huge _palamut _of which the like Ymir has never seen.

Sasha moved to Ymir's side and with her forearm, wiped her sweaty brow. "Good haul for lunch, ey?" She was, maybe, a year or two younger than Ymir, and sported long, dark auburn hair that was always tied up. They got along fairly well, and though Ymir was sure she intimidated her a fair bit, at least she was nice enough to stick around.

"Heh." Ymir smirked. "Got that right. This good enough for you, Shadis?"

"Very good," he said. "Satisfactory."

"Do I have your permission to spend the rest of my day off?"

"Hm." He scratched his chin. "You've never asked for a day off before, not really."

"Well, I've got things to do!"

"You mean, a girl to impress." Sasha nudged her in the ribs.

"Is that so?" Shadis asked, eyebrows high.

"Aw, come on." Ymir tried her best not to blush.

"What, is it like a date?" Sasha giggled. "Are you going to give her flowers?"

"Even better." Ymir eyed the thrashing _palamut _in the net, smiling.

###

Krista stared at the fish with eyes as big as plates, her mouth slightly unhinged. It lay fresh and very much dead on a bed of long, broad leaves. The scales were like diamonds – fish like this were the true jewels of the ocean. Such a heavy haul could be easily sold for a hefty bag of coppers. Ymir had stopped just in time for lunch, but Krista barely expected her to come back, let alone bring a fish. Some part of Krista told her that meeting the brunette was part of an elaborate set-up from her imagination. She was relieved, and extremely happy, to know that it wasn't.

"I can't believe it," she said. "A prize-winning _palamut_!"

"I told you, didn't I?" Ymir placed her hands on her hips. "I am the best!"

"Indeed," agreed Krista. She placed Metamorphoses on the counter. "Here it is. A deal is a deal."

Ymir inhaled sharply and let the tips of her fingernails adorn the leather bindings. The smell it held was ancient, fossilized – it whispered stories of fame, strength, and old glory. Without opening it, she recited:

_"__When this disguise I carry shall be no more,  
And all the treacherous years of life undone,  
And yet my name shall rise to heavenly music,  
The deathless music of the circling stars._"

Krista stared at her in wondrous stillness. The exact line numbers appeared in her head. _XV. 871-879_. "I thought…I thought you hadn't read it."

"My father had this stanza carved into his shield. I used to polish it for him." Ymir smiled. "It was the reason I knew _of _Metamorphoses, the reason why I wanted to read it."

There was common ground between them. The way Ymir spoke about her father sounded melancholy, almost nostalgic. It reached out for a man who was once there, but not anymore.

Krista cupped Ymir's hand over the book. It was warm, but callous and rocky, as she expected it to be. "It's yours now. You have forever to read it."

Ymir blushed profusely. "I suppose I do." Before she could embarrass herself further, she turned to leave. "I remembered, I have things to do. I should go-"

Krista stretched herself out. "Wait!"

Ymir twisted her head to look at her, Metamorphoses in one hand.

"It's a big fish. Too big for one girl like me. Join me for lunch." Her eyes were on their knees, begging.

Ymir sighed, and juggled the thought in her mind with sheer panic. _Why would she want to be with you? You smell like shit! Ymir, get your act together. _

"Alright. I know a good place that would fry it for us."

###

It was a very small barbecue restaurant which thrived on the money of working class citizens. It overlooked the Bosphorus Sea, with a thin and tired mat tied above the outdoor area of the restaurant. A burly man wearing a white, cotton shirt was standing in front of a charcoal-fuelled stovetop roasting lamb. This was one of the liveliest places Krista had seen. It was populated by street urchins and the poorer masses, but it was not grim. The colours of Constantinople seemed to have a stronger presence where the masses are, not where the masses are held. Richer districts missed out on this. They were seated at a wooden long table next to three other patrons.

When the _palamut _was plated in front of them, Krista offered some to the ones next to them. They accepted it, and thanked her. They each rose a glass in her honour.

Ymir mixed in some lentils with her portion of fish and began eating. "You're too nice,_ _ҫiҫek__."

Krista delightfully crunched on the more charred bits of the fish's skin. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

"Some people take advantage of that. People like me."

"Oh?"

"Not to you, though. We're good, my flower." Ymir swallowed and smirked up at Krista. "That is, until you stop giving me books."

Krista flicked Ymir's nose. "Don't push it."

Ymir dipped her fingers in the small bowl of humus they shared. She smeared some on Krista's cheek. A playful grin appeared on her face. "Oh! Would you look at that? You have something on your face."

"My revenge will not be merciful," giggled Krista, wiping the substance off her cheek.

###

Lunch trailed on, and soon, the _palamut _was nothing but a pile of sharp bones. They licked their plates clean and finished everything in sight. They thanked the owner of the restaurant for a cheap and hearty meal, and walked off. Krista suggested they go for a stroll along the docks of the bay, passing the Golden Horn and the coastal merchants and workers whom did not let the gradual sunset stop them from their work. The breeze became cold, temperatures dropped, and what kept Krista warm was the company of Ymir. Their talks were long and varied, ranging from the new fashions at the Bazaar down to the architecture of the Hagia Sophia. When it grew darker, however, Krista had explained her father was waiting for her, probably fuming, and she had to leave. Ymir offered to walk her home, but the blonde refused, stating that it wasn't wise to do so. They bid their goodbyes and Ymir promised to visit the bookstore more often.

Ymir walked back towards her home, only guided by the feint moon and the lanterns which were lit above the streets. She shared a wooden shack with Sasha, very close to where Shadis and the other fishermen lived. When she opened the door, she was greeted with a pleasant smell of boiled vegetables. Sasha was standing over a steaming, copper pot of swirling leeks and carrots.

"Good day?" Sasha asked in greeting.

"Yes, a very good day." She put Metamorphoses on their table.

"I've never seen you so amiable. Who is this girl again?"

"Her name is Krista." Ymir sat on their living room mat with her head against the wall.

Sasha turned off the heat and placed a lid on the pot. She sat beside Ymir. "Describe her to me."

"Her hair, the colour of…gilded gold." She visualized her, conjured her. Made her appear.

"Like the gold in Topkap׀ Palace?" Even Sasha saw an imaginary girl in front of her.

"Yes. Exactly like that. And eyes, bluer than the Bosphorus, like sapphires. A smile that would make the deaf hear and the blind see."

Sasha snorted. "Now you're just making her up."

"I'm not! Her beauty is so real I cannot comprehend it myself."

"My friend, you are one lovestruck _salak_."

"_Kendinizi sopa, _Sasha."

Sasha laughed. "I'm surprised she was not deterred by your colourful vocabulary."

Ymir shook her head, and then sighed happily.

###

Words of long-lost poets entered her dreams that night, accompanied by an angel with hair spun of the stars.

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

__qayїk - boat  
__

___hadi - come on  
___

____Bir, iki, üҫ - one, two, three  
____

_uskumru - mackerel fish  
_

__palamut- Atlantic bonito fish  
__

__ҫiҫek_ \- flower  
_

__salak - idiot  
__

_Kendinizi sopa - stick yourself  
_


	3. III - Piҫ K׀z׀

**WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of domestic violence. Viewer discretion is advised. **

* * *

**III – Piҫ K׀z׀**  
_A week and a day later_

* * *

Her father decided that today was a rest day.

Today, out of all the days, he did not want to kiss the fat behinds of the priests and grease up the pockets of the politicians. Normally, Krista welcomed his presence. He never made eye contact with her if he could help it, only talking to her if he was hungry or needed something cleaned up. She tolerated it because he was her only family. To lose him was to lose everything she had. But as she scrubbed down the dishes and saw the sun knocking on their cross-hatched window, she remembered Ymir and thought that perhaps, she wouldn't be alone if she lost her father after all. It was awhile since she had seen the freckled girl, and by _awhile_, she meant yesterday. Her happiness depended upon their meetings. And today, she sighed, today, she promised to meet Ymir by the docks. It wouldn't have seemed so impossible if her father wasn't home. _Out of all the days_, she thought.

Krista knew _better _than to disturb her father as he read the gazette. After she finished the last plate and ensured they were all drying upon the towel she laid out, she set the washing pot aside and addressed him. "Father, would it be alright for me to go outside?"

He didn't do as much as glance at her. His eyes scanned nothing but the paper. "I'm keeping the store closed today."

"I didn't mean that I'd go to the store."

"A woman's place is wherever her father, brother, uncle or grandfather tells her to be in. You will stay in this house."

"I don't understand why it has to be like that," she said, wiping her hands on her _kaftan. _"Why can't I make decisions for myself?"

Krista wasn't sure which scared her the most. The cold glare her father shot her, or, that he actually got up from his chair and paid full attention to her.

"What did you say?" He advanced towards her. Father was not an exceptionally tall man, but to Krista he loomed like a giant.

She immediately regretted what she said, but for all the air she swallowed, she could not take it back. "Forgive me, please. Father."

Her father had never hit her, but he came close every time. Today, he did not come close. Today, he actually _did_. Father's fist was a battering ram, and it broke her gates. A sharp sound was followed by the clattering of copper and metal. The force of it sent Krista into the hanging pans behind her. They tumbled onto the ground, their _clinging _and _clanging _mocking her. She numbly brought a shaking hand to her cheekbone, where it impacted her. A lump was forming. Biting back her tears, she stared into her father's eyes, searching for pity. For _anything_. The seconds passed, and she hoped that he would burst into tears and hug her, that he would apologize and tell her it was an accident. That's all they were, though, just hopes.

"You _disgust_ me," he said. "Get out of my house." When she didn't move, he shouted. "I _said, _get _out _of my house, you fucking _piҫ_!"

Though Krista wanted nothing more than to crumple on the ground and cry, she operated the clockwork in her legs and began running. Out of the house she zoomed, tears flying from her face. There was not a time that she ran so hard. The cobblestones underneath her feet baked and fried, causing her to wince in pain every time she landed upon it. The peddlers and the passersby either yelled at her for almost tearing their goods down, or muttered curse words and calling her a _ҫ_׀_lg_׀_n k_׀_z_ – a crazy girl. Her mind could not even control her legs – there was no destination, no point of rest. She ran until she was tired. By the time she was already panting heavily, she found herself at the edge of one of the docks by the Golden Horn.

The sea in front of her spoke in ripples and in ebbs. It immersed her in a heavy trance, calming her down almost completely. When her heart willed it, she sat down upon the wood and swung her legs back and forth, watching her toes disinterestedly. There was a distorted reflection of herself in the water which made her wonder. _Why was I ever born?_

"Oy, _ҫiҫek_!"

The familiar voice made her turn around.

It was Ymir, jogging towards her, with Metamorphoses in her hand. Her noticeable grin brought a smile to Krista's face. "Ymir!"

However, as the tall brunette came closer, her grin dissipated into a worried mask. She kneeled beside the blonde and studied her carefully. "There is a purple bloom upon your cheek. And your _nose_!"

"My nose?" When she gently touched her nostrils, she saw her finger dabbed in blood. She hadn't even noticed.

"Here." Ymir took off her thin _h׀rka_. She offered it to Krista, who eyed it warily. "Just take it, okay? I don't want you bleeding everywhere."

Krista took it, and pressed it against her nose. "Thank you."

"What happened to you, anyway?" Ymir sat beside her. Their knees touched.

"I tripped."

"_Eşeğin oğlu_, you tripped!" Ymir exclaimed. "Tell me the truth."

"That _is_ the truth!" Krista protested.

"I never thought you'd be one for _saçmalık_, Krista. Absolute bullshit. What, did the floor rise up to punch you?"

The tears in Krista's eyes flowed down her face. She looked down at her hands, realizing how _pathetic _she looked and sounded. She began to sob, tightly clutching Ymir's cardigan close to her chest. Suddenly, she felt a bony hand rubbing her back.

Ymir lowered her voice. "I'm sorry. Don't cry."

It took three more minutes of coaxing and soft whispers until Krista regained her composure. When she ceased her crying, she used the cardigan to wipe the tears and snot off her face.

She turned to Ymir with puffy eyes. "_Ben anne karnında öldü diliyorum_," she said, "I wish I had never been born at all."

"Never wish that," replied Ymir. "Never."

"My mother _died _giving birth to me. My father…he once told me that he would have exchanged my life for hers, if he had the chance."

"Was he the one who hit you?" When Krista hesitated and didn't answer, Ymir's suspicions were confirmed. "I'll fuck him up, if you want."

"Ymir…" Krista sighed. "That's not what I want. It would not do any good."

"It could. That _sik kafal _can stick it."

Something about Ymir's determined tone made Krista smile. Though she truly did not wish violence upon her father, the fact that Ymir was ready to jump to her defense comforted her.

"Look," she said, "let's not talk about it anymore. I came here to see you."

Ymir handed her an understanding glance and showed her Metamorphoses. "I began reading it, but…my literacy is not very good. The basic words I understand, but there are so many complex ones which boggle my mind."

"I can help you with the words." Krista took the book from her.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Ymir grinned. "Let's start with page forty. Where'd Ovid get all these phrases anyway?"

###

An hour and a half later into the morning, they reached page one hundred and twenty, where Ymir couldn't decipher what the poet really meant by:

"_Love is the force that leaves you colourless_." The brunette read it out loud for the fifth time. "I don't understand."

"On its own, I think Ovid is saying that love is something so intense it can break you," answered Krista.

"I don't think it can," murmured Ymir.

"The romantic is showing herself, I see."

"Just think about it. Why _could _it?"

The blonde shrugged. "I don't have enough experience to think about it."

"You've never been in love before?"

"No, why? Have you?"

Ymir rolled her eyes. "I don't think anyone can stand someone as unendurable as me. You, on the other hand…I bet you have a flock of boys after you."

"I've seen the ones in my neighborhood stare after me, but I think the sight of my father scares them away."

"I wouldn't be discouraged by him," said Ymir with an air of nonchalance.

"Do you mean to say that _you _would stare after me _just _so you can prove your bravado to my father?" Krista asked skeptically.

"Something like that." Ymir smirked and ruffled Krista's hair. "Just think about it – boys at your heels, just _dying _to know what it feels like to be in love with a _goddess_."

Krista nudged Ymir in the ribs, blushing. "I've never thought about boys specifically, not really."

"No?"

"I've thought about _people_. I think you find love wherever it is."

"What if it's dressed in rags and stinks like shit?"

"I'd hold my breath and pinch my nose, but I think I'd accept it."

"Huh. That's a lot of wisdom from someone so young."

"I'm not _that _young." Krista stuck her tongue out. "I'm turning fourteen in a few months."

"How _grown up _of you." Ymir returned the gesture with a funny face.

"You're almost as young as me! You're only turning sixteen on the month after my birthday!"

"Yeah, but I'm still older than _you_."

"At least now you'll have to think of a present to give to me."

"Like hell I will."

"You will!"

"I won't!"

"Ymir," Krista whined, "you will."

"If you give me a kiss," Ymir blurted out, "I will."

Giggling, Krista lightly smacked her on the head with the book. "There's your kiss. You better fulfill _your _end of the bargain."

Sighing, Ymir gave her a lopsided smile. "Fine. I will. But don't cry if it's something shitty, like a broken sandal, or something."

"It won't be shitty if it's from you."

###

When the afternoon greeted them in swarms of flies and burning sunshine, they left the docks and headed for shade amongst the stalls of the Bazaar. After careful browsing, Krista decided that what she wanted for her birthday was a fan, new linen of silk, a glass pendant, a cotton shirt, and a gemstone they found in a hawker's 'box of exotic things from the West'. Ymir assured Krista that it was fake, but the blonde could not be convinced. The day descended quickly into a chilly evening and before they knew it, the horizon was transforming into the colour of the Bosphorus – green and blue. Krista dragged Ymir to a small café only five minutes away from the Bazaar. With luck, they secured a small table to themselves, since people already flocked to it and most had to deal with standing around as they ate and drank. The lanterns overhead swung softly, pendulums repeating the rhythm of the breeze. They ordered two cups of _ş__algam suyu_.

"Perfect to ward away the incoming winter, ey?" Ymir said, as she took a sip.

"Mmm." Krista closed her eyes, feeling the hot juice run down her throat.

"Well, look who's here!"

Krista almost spit out her drink – it was a voice she had never heard in her life. When she looked up to see who it was, there stood a girl with auburn hair so dark it was brown.

Ymir set her cup down. "Sasha?"

The girl she called Sasha stole a chair from the adjacent table, receiving a curse from one of the patrons. She smiled at Krista. "So, is this is the fabled goddess?"

"I-I'm Krista," the blonde said.

"Sasha. A pleasure. I work with Ymir at the docks."

"What are you doing here?" asked Ymir, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"What else for? I'm here to get a drink!" Ymir narrowed her eyes towards her, to which Sasha responded by widening her eyes and standing up. "_Oh_. Oh! You know – I forgot, I actually had something to take care of."

"Can't you stay?" said Krista.

"N-no! No, sorry. Ymir will be enough for company. It was nice to meet you, Krista. Remember to wipe the drool off Ymir's face every time she looks at you. I think she gets too excited sometimes." With that, Sasha left, her swaying body dancing into the dark of the night.

"What did she mean by _that?" _Krista chimed.

"Don't mind her." A light blush appeared on Ymir's face, but Krista couldn't tell if it was from the drink or not. "She's just a _salak_."

"I'm sure she is," giggled Krista.

###

They finished their cups in silence, comfortably reveling in the peace of each other's company. Silence had always been a terrifying thing for Krista – silence meant emptiness, it meant having no love, it meant death. Today, she decided, silence would mean contentment. They allowed their drinks to settle in their stomachs by drifting here and there. It must have been hours and hours – they could not tell – until Krista finally told Ymir that she was feeling extremely drowsy. The brunette tucked her arm around the blonde's shoulder, and they walked towards her house. When they stood in front of it, Ymir whistled admiringly. It was two storeyed, with a modest alcove on the top floor. Its roof was made from exquisite ridge clay tiles which would look bright orange in the day and dark red in the night. Light filtered through the window above them, a shadowy figure staring down in their direction.

"Is that him?" Ymir pointed. Her arm was a bow aiming at the man, her finger an arrow almost ready to shoot.

Flustered, Krista pushed her arm down. "Ymir! He'll _kill _you."

Ymir scoffed, but allowed her arm to fall. "He can _try_."

The man opened the window and leered outside. The yellow of the light poured out behind him, casting him in a dark silhouette. "Krista, is that you?"

"Y-yes, father!" answered Krista. "It's me!"

"I've been waiting for you, girl. Get up here."

"You can't let him talk to you like that!" Ymir whispered sternly.

"I have no choice," Krista said. She turned to Ymir, a heavy heart strapped on her body. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Don't tell anyone about how he hits me. Don't do anything about it either."

"Krista, it's not right, and we both know it."

"I can't lose him, Ymir. He's my _father_."

"He _hurts _you."

"He's the only family I have."

"You have-" Ymir stopped herself. She frowned, and turned to leave. "I'll see you later, Krista."

Krista couldn't bring herself to stop her from going. After all, she had to report inside before she angered her father even more. Gulping, she entered her house, and lugged her legs up the stairs. Each step seemed heavier than the last. Her father was sitting there, a wooden spoon in his hands. As she expected, he swore at her and reprimanded her for leaving and not returning at once. She had half a mind to protest that it was _his _command, but she held her tongue. She continued holding it as he struck her on her shoulder with the spoon.

The force of it drove her to tears, but the pain subsided, and all she could think about was what Ymir was going to say.

_You have me._

* * *

**NOTE: I do not promote domestic violence, or child abuse. This is pure fiction, and details the consequences of a patriarchal society.**

**NOTE 2: The chapter name means: "Bastard Daughter"**

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

_kaftan - robe_

_pi_ҫ - bastard__

__ҫ_׀_lg_׀_n k_׀_z - crazy girl__

_ҫiҫek - flower_

__h׀rka - cardigan__

__Eşeğin oğlu - donkey's son__

_saçmalık - bullshit, nonsense_

__Ben anne karnında öldü diliyorum - lit. translation; "I wish I had died in the womb."__

_sik kafal - dickhead_

__ş__algam suyu - hot turnip juice, popular as a winter drink__

_salak - idiot_


	4. IV - Memlûk Kızı

**IV - Memlûk Kızı  
**_September (one month later)  
_

* * *

The memories of her parents should have faded by now, but they didn't. Like apparitions, they visited her when she wanted them to.

Ymir shut her eyes tightly, so tight she felt them struggling to be contained within her eyelids. There were tiny visions of what was once there, the torn pieces of a picture depicting a smiling freckled woman and a tall, dark-skinned man clad in armour. Her crinkled eyes were joyful as she held a grinning child in her arms. His arm was around the both of them, his thick beard reaching down to tickle the woman's cheeks. The child was no more than six; she had her mother's deep-set eyes, her freckles, and her father's skin.

When she was nine, Ymir remembered, her father took her to the fields where the Byzantines once toiled on the ground.

_There were dandelions upon the deserted land, their bristles and hairs swinging to the whistling of the wind. They were on horseback, on majestic Akhal-Teke breeds. His was the colour of charcoal, hers the colour of chestnuts. He led them to a secluded spot by a Syrian juniper tree. Its trunk was composed of hundreds of gnarled coppice which had twisted around each other as time progressed. The leaves came in shrubs of pale green, yielding ripe berries. _

_Her father got off the horse, and she followed. _

_"__Pass me the bag, Ymir," he said, and she did. He opened it and examined the contents one by one. _

_The large rucksack had been filled to the brim with the finest treasures of armament and rank:_

_1x Mameluke sword, its hilt decorated with a ruby._

_1 x kalkan shield, its wicker outskirts scratched and broken in many places, its metal dome inscribed with a passage from Metamorphoses._

_1 x full-face chain helmet, the facial mask guard depicting the angry face of a god._

_2 x gauntlets, the knuckles marked with the phrase 'Şeytan ismimi biliyor'._

_"__When you are older, much older, you will inherit these." Father began digging with the shovel he had strapped on his back and brought with them. _

_"__Won't they dissolve into the earth?" Ymir asked. _

_He chuckled, closing the rucksack. He tossed it inside the deep hole and placed the sword alongside it. "I inherited these from my father, and he from his father before him. Our blood protects them." _

_"__Will I be a soldier too?"_

_"__By Allah's grace, I hope not. You are my only daughter."_

_"__But what's the point of me inheriting them?"_

_"__So you can pass them on, to your children, and they can pass it on to their children."_

_"__What if I don't have any children?"_

_"__Don't let your mother hear you say that. She'll faint!" _

_He shoveled the dirt onto the rucksack and the sword, and Ymir watched as the soil clamped around it, hiding it until it could not be seen any longer. _

It was unbeknownst to her at the time, but three days later, her father and mother would be murdered, and she would be left for dead.

###

Groaning, Ymir opened her eyes. She was sitting against the wall of Shadis' trading post just north of the Golden Horn. It was situated in between a rival fishery and a boatmaker's workshop. The day loafed around like a sloth, the clouds casting a pallid sieve over the sun. There were less boats roaming about the estuary today, and customers were sparse.

She must have heard Shadis screech for the thousandth time today, haggling over the prices of his freshly-caught fish. From the inside, she could make out the snippet of a conversation:

"Shadis, you greedy _pislik_. This is not enough fish for ten silvers."

"Then shove those ten silvers up your ass!"

The girl he was speaking with stormed out. A crimson scarf was snugly wrapped around her neck. Shoulder-length, jet black hair snapped to the side as she cursed to herself. Ymir looked up at her and arched an eyebrow.

"Won't give you a break, huh?"

The girl nodded indifferently. "What's it to you?"

"I'm Ymir, I work here."

"Mikasa."

Ymir reached out and pointed towards the direction behind the girl. "You see the one over there, by the docks?"

Mikasa craned her neck. In her sight she saw a girl of average height, her hair tied back above her head. She was fixing the sails of a boat, her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders. "Yeah?"

"That's Sasha. Tell her I sent you. She'll fix you up with a decent amount of fish, free of charge."

"What do you want in return?" Mikasa gazed at her suspiciously.

"Nothing." Ymir shrugged. "I just can't stand Shadis' voice anymore. Now hurry, before he catches you."

Mikasa thanked her, and went away to approach Sasha. Ymir watched the scene in amusement. The black-haired customer was a regular, and though she only learned her name today, she knew that Sasha would often stare at her longingly. This, she realized, was revenge for Sasha's ceaseless teasing about her and Krista. When Mikasa placed a hand on Sasha's shoulder to get her attention, the girl jumped in fright and accidentally hit herself with a wooden hammer. Mikasa said something, probably asking Sasha if she was okay. Sasha, like the idiot she was, nervously walked backwards and tripped, falling into the water. It was _too much_.

Ymir burst out laughing. "Shadis! You've got to – fuck – come out here!"

Shadis appeared out the door, his angry face scanning the bay. "What!? What's going on!?"

"Sasha – she fell into the sea! Look!" She pointed to the splashing atrocity in the water.

"That bloody _pezevenk_! I'm not paying her to drown!" He trudged off in Sasha's direction, arms squared, hands balled into fists.

"What are you watching?"

Ymir looked up. It was Krista, dressed in blue cottoned robes. The bruise on her cheek was starting to turn green and yellow. The brunette gestured for her to sit beside her. She did, putting her tiny hands clasped around her knees.

"Sasha got herself in a very embarrassing predicament," Ymir said.

Shadis and Mikasa had each grabbed an arm of Sasha's, and pulled her up to the surface on the count of three. Sasha dropped onto the dock like a dead fish – she even had her tongue out. Her eyes were glazed over as she coughed and spat out a piece of seaweed she swallowed.

"Oh, no," Krista whispered, leaving her left leg bare as she placed a hand to her mouth. "Can't she swim?"

"That's the catch, there." Ymir smiled devilishly. "Sasha is a very good swimmer. She is almost as good as me, and I'm _very _good."

Rolling her eyes at the arrogance, Krista asked, "Then why did she almost drown?"

"Because a certain girl is making her all tickly inside."

"Is it that girl with the scarf?" Christa giggled.

Ymir nodded. At this point, Shadis had finished lecturing Sasha and was coming back to man the trading post, leaving Mikasa to help the girl walk. Sasha's clothes were bursting with seawater – they were plastered to her skin. Mikasa's own robes were getting drenched just from being close to her, but she didn't seem to mind. When they were within five feet of Ymir and Krista, Sasha shot her a menacing glower, her eyes turning into small slits. _Don't you dare_, they said.

Ymir sniggered. "I'm assuming you like the fish you caught, Mikasa."

Mikasa blushed, but didn't reply. "Come. My house isn't far. The least I can do is give you dry clothes."

Sasha limped alongside her, and when they had their backs to Ymir and Krista, she twisted her head to leer at them. She mouthed the words, "You _orospu çocuğu_."

Ymir gave her a wave. This wave turned into a middle finger.

Krista slapped Ymir's shoulder. "Ymir!"

"What?"

"You are _unspeakable_."

"Yet, we are speaking of me right now."

"Very funny."

"I try."

###

Before noon, they took a stroll to the south of Constantinople. Ymir's legs ached after an hour of walking, but she was too proud to tell Krista. Relief overcame her when the blonde finally asked for them to stop. They sat on a stone bench in a courtyard to the east of the Little Hagia Sophia. As the name suggested, it was the demure, baby sister of the bigger mosque which resided in the north-east. Its walls were less pronounced, its spires nothing compared to the towering mosque which shadowed it. The smell of kebab wafted through the air, causing Ymir to salivate. However, Krista was in a serious mood. She had persuaded Ymir to bring Metamorphoses so they could study it further.

On the other hand, the food wasn't what began distracting her. It was Krista's voice. As she read aloud, Ymir was transported into more memories. The soft kiss of the warm air as she and her father raced around the fields. Her mother teaching her how to weave, despite the fact that she was naturally horrible at it. The _baklava _her mother and her father made together, just for her. She was unsure why the girl's voice triggered such images, but she didn't want her to stop.

"_…__Philomela, at the sight of the blade,_ Ymir, are you listening?" The brunette nodded absentmindedly. Krista continued. "…_was happy, filled with hope, the thought of death_…Ymir?"

"Mmmm."

_"__Most welcome: her throat was ready for the stroke_…" Krista paused, then exhaled a huge amount of air and closed the book.

The _thump_ surprised Ymir. She leaned back in shock. "What? What's wrong?"

"I'm giving you thirty seconds to tell me what just happened in Metamorphoses." Krista crossed her arms.

"Philo…milly…"

"_Philomela_."

"She…" Ymir sighed in defeat when she couldn't think of what she had to say. "Krista, don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't hear a word."

Krista bit the inside of her cheek. "You _cannot _be serious. I just read three whole pages!"

"It's just…"

"Just?" She placed the book on the empty space beside her.

"My mind is wandering."

"I can see that."

"You wouldn't _understand._" Her voice rose, irritation bubbling up inside her. "It's about my family."

"_I_ wouldn't understand?" Krista's voice soared, matching hers.

Ymir picked at the hem of her shirt. "_Bok_. I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

Krista offered her a wan smile. "It's alright. Clearly, we are both haunted by our parents."

"Agreed, _ҫiҫek_. Agreed."

"Do you want to talk about them?"

Ymir hesitated for a moment. An idea sparked in her mind. "Yes, but I must show you something first."

###

Ymir came here often – it was the only link that she had to her parents, aside from the inheritance buried underneath the Syrian juniper tree.

Further south of Constantinople was the poorest district on record. Here, the ground was comprised exclusively of mud and horseshit. The smell was so suffocating Ymir expected Krista to gag and drop dead. Surprisingly, she didn't, going so far as to say she actually enjoyed the smell. Ymir didn't declare it, but she decided she liked Krista little bit more. Beggars cluttered alongside the chipped houses, their palms pointing towards the sky, mouths wording one thing: '_gıda_'.

Some, Ymir observed, had eyes which were white, their pupils thin and ghastly. Some had limbs missing. As she turned to them, she realized that when she had been poor herself, she was not truly _poor_. There was not a single missing appendage on her body – she was fit, able and undeniably lucky. Krista tugged on her sleeve when they spotted a mother and her wailing baby. Ymir dug in her pockets for what meager change she had, and gave it to her. Krista did the same. The freckled girl led them deeper into the maze of streets until they reached an adequately-sized den – it was lined with stables left and right. At its end was a modest house with a broken window.

Flaxen hay was strewn across the courtyard. A few rafters from the box stalls creaked, the timber rotting with age and disrepair. It might have been successful once, a company selling and loaning thoroughbreds and racing horses. _Now_, it only made people wonder. _Why was it still standing when there were no more horses_? At first glance, this was the case, but if one ventured at a stone's throw away, they would see that there were in fact, two horses left.

Ymir whispered their names so quietly that Krista had to lean in to hear.

_One named Kraliҫe -  
the other, Aslan-yürek._

Both were Turkmen, with chiseled heads and almond eyes. Their narrow ears were propped up like sticks upon their heads, occasionally twitching and wiggling. Kraliҫe was the colour of rust – her hide used to be lighter, like bronze, but over the years she had darkened. Once, Ymir deduced that it was because the horse missed her mother terribly. She had been hers originally, after all. Aslan-yürek was her father's, her sable coat as murky as the day they first got her.

Krista squealed happily as soon as she saw them, immediately stroking the bridge of Kraliҫe's nose. "They're so beautiful…"

Ymir smiled, as she reached over and gave Aslan-yürek a pat. "Kraliҫe is the sturdier one, well-built for endurance. Aslan-yürek, on the other hand, is for speed. She's nimble and quick."

"Who takes care of them?"

Ymir turned towards the house. "There is a young man who lives in there. He feeds them, brushes them, gives them water. I haven't the slightest idea why."

"Do you know him?" Krista asked. "His name? What he looks like?"

"His head is shaven, but that is all I have seen of him." Ymir knit her brows together. "I think his father served with mine once, in the army."

"The way you speak about your father…" Krista's hand fell from Kraliҫe's head. She whinnied disapprovingly. "Did he die fighting?"

Bile mounted in Ymir's throat. For a second, she struggled to speak. "No. He and my mother were killed in our home. It happened six years ago."

Krista gazed up at Ymir, her eyes awash in sticky tears. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Between the two of us, _I_ am the lucky one."

"What do you mean?"

"They died, but they died _loving _me."

She took two wooden pails from behind them and sat on one. Krista followed. The stink of the manure around them made Ymir's eyes water uncontrollably.

Krista took her hand, her thumb caressing the bones on her knuckles.

"It's okay if you cry," she said.

"I'm not crying." Ymir sniffed. "I think I stepped on a lot of crap. It smells like _Seytan'ın pislik_."

Krista bumped into Ymir's shoulder, her nose flattened against the sleeve of her shirt. There was a muffled snort. "I find it hard to be serious when you say things like that."

Ymir rested her head atop the blonde's. "I don't try to be serious. That is the trick."

"Isn't it painful?"

"Yes, it is, but a great many things are."

###

Ymir did not know how right she was.

This fifteen-turning-sixteen year old was astute and clever beyond her years, but it would be much, much later that she would truly understand the meaning of the sentence she said, and the piles of corpses it packed underneath it.

* * *

**NOTE: The chapter title translates to "Mamluk Daughter". **

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

_Şeytan ismimi biliyor - lit. trans "Satan knows my name."; used. trans "The Devil knows my name."  
_

__pislik - asshole  
__

___pezevenk - fucker  
___

____orospu çocuğu - son of a bitch  
____

_____Bok - shit  
_____

_gıda - food  
_

_Krali_ҫe - name; meaning 'Queen'__

__Aslan-yürek - name; lit. trans 'Lion-heart'  
__

_Seytan'ın pislik - Satan's asshole  
_


	5. V -Büyüme

**V – Büyüme  
**_Winter, 1508_

* * *

Over the course of the months November and December, two very humiliating and unforgettable events would happen to Krista. They came in two parts:

_The Bleeding &amp; The Calls._

Yes, they happened in that order. More or less. Less or more.

Close your eyes and imagine that you are the illegitimate child of an ignorant, sexist man. He has not taught you anything, except from cooking and cleaning. He has told you _countless _times that you are to grow into a very beautiful young woman if you should have any chance of finding a husband. The thing is – he never told you how this transformation would begin.

* * *

_The Bleeding_

* * *

Mumbling in her sleep, Krista was having a very odd dream about wetting the bed.

She had not soiled herself since she was about seven, and was indisputably proud of that accomplishment. Her legs tightened together, one foot crossed over the other. In the dream she was afraid that if she opened them, she would _actually _wet herself. The resistance against the dream brought her closer and closer to regaining consciousness, thus waking her up.

_Please don't be what I think it is, _she prayed in her mind. She addressed it to Allah and the Prophet Muhammad, though she was doubtful they could save her from whatever spoilage she got herself into now. She sat up on her bed and hurriedly pulled the covers off. As people said, it was easier to rip a bandage off quickly rather than slow the process of removing it.

It was not what she thought it was.

It was something _far, far worse._

A scream was fighting its way to her mouth, but she clasped her hands over her lips to prevent it from coming out. It came, eventually, but strangled and muted as if she had been gagged. Her heart pounded so loud she heard it resonate throughout the room.

_This could not be happening, it's not real. It's not real. I am dreaming. _This mantra was repeated ten times as she ran a quaking hand across her thighs. Her fingers became caked in blood, and she stared at them for a good minute as they shook hysterically. She needed _help, _and she needed it _now_. She was _dying_. If she lost too much, she knew she would just black out and that was it.

Her head snapped towards her father's sleeping figure across from her – they shared the upstairs, only divided by a rolled-up rug which designated their own spaces. Her father's space was bigger of course, but not by much. His arms were over his chest, and he was snoring _awfully loud_. It should have been impossible for him to hear her stifled cries above his noise.

_No, not him_. Just the very thought of asking her father for help in this situation was excruciating. She had no money left in her coin pot to pay a doctor, and even if she had, it still wouldn't be enough. Krista slid out of her bed, but it took her awhile to stop the wobbling in her legs. She realized she only had one person to turn to for help.

Disregarding the fact that she was only in her _gämlek _and a very thin, see-through _kaftan_, she left the house and ran as fast as she could towards the direction of Ymir's house. During the winter, the sun rose later into the morning, so though it was six on a Saturday, the sky was still gloomy and sleeping. As she ran, she noticed drops of blood trailing behind her. _Hurry, _she pleaded to herself. _I'm going to die_.

What a sight it was, to see:

_A pallid girl winning a race down the street,  
her white garments flowing around her body,  
her legs stained with garnets that have  
melted a long, long time ago. _

###

Krista had been to her friend's house multiple times. She managed to memorize the route around her seventh visit, and for that, she was grateful.

Her knocks weren't to be taken menacingly.

She made them in gentle raps, making sure her knuckles thoroughly made contact with the wood. It was the quiet of the morning which made her balled inquiries seem like threats upon the shack, but she could care less. It was a matter of life and death.

"Ymir!" she called. "Please come out!"

When she heard the door clicking, she let out a sigh of relief. The tall, freckled girl stood in the crook of the doorway, her eyes squinting from the dust of sleep. Her hair was matted. One hand leaned against the doorframe, whilst the other scratched her stomach.

"Wh- what? Krista?" Ymir yawned. "It's too early."

Krista pulled up her _kaftan_. "I'm dying."

Ymir's eyes enlarged at the sight of her. "_Allah aşkına! _Get in, get in!"

She did not need to be told twice. Krista scampered inside, and Ymir shut the door behind her. Sasha, who had been sleeping soundly and dreaming of a girl named Mikasa just a few minutes ago, was now awake and moving about.

"Sasha, prepare the bath," commanded Ymir. "Krista, just sit here. On this mat, yes."

As Krista did as she was told, she could hear the spattering of water from the room where Sasha disappeared to. Ymir stooped in front her and placed her large hands on the sides of her cheeks. Krista felt her breathing relax at the touch, her heart returning to its steady and calm rhythm.

"Am I dying?" she whispered.

The hint of a smile appeared on Ymir's face. "You're not…serious, are you?"

"What's happening to me? Why am I bleeding?"

"My _ҫiҫek, _you have nothing to worry about. This is your _adet_."

"My…menstruation?"

"Were you not told about this?"

Krista shook her head.

Thus began the much-needed health educational talk. Ymir was not the most vocabulary-advanced teacher, nor was she the most tactful. However, she got the point across and that was what mattered. At the end of it, Krista laughed and threw her head back in exasperation. Ymir told her that it was normal to have gotten the wrong impression of the monthly friend, which made her feel ten times lighter than she was. There were no words to describe the gratitude she had for Ymir.

When Sasha declared that the bath was filled and warm, Ymir ushered her into their bathroom – a miniscule, tiled space which had a gaping hole on the far end to act as drainage for water and waste-related ventures. A basin massive enough to fit two people stood in the centre, steam rising from its surface. Krista took her blood-stained clothes off, to which Sasha took and offered to wash for her. Ymir had been standing at the doorway with her back to the bathing girl, a pair of sea sponges and new clothes in her arms.

"I'm done," said Krista. She carefully slid out of the tub. Drops of water clung to her ankles.

"Come here."

She sensed the blonde coming closer. The scent of the rosy cleaning salts she used was imprinted upon her.

Ymir turned on her heel, closing her eyes as she blindly offered the blonde the items she held. A blush crept to her cheeks. "These sponges are natural; we catch them from the sea and clean them for use. Just clean them before and after use, daily, use tea tree oil and vinegar."

Krista took them from her hands without a word.

"Here, a towel." Ymir stammered. "And clothes! Sasha's. She never wears them anyway. Please."

"_Teşekkür ederim_, Ymir." Cotton unfolded and crumpled. "This whole ordeal has been _so _embarrassing."

"No need to thank me."

"You know," Krista giggled, "you don't have to shut your eyes so tightly."

"Oh, she does," Sasha called from the living room. "Otherwise she wouldn't be able to help herself."

Ymir growled. "_Ben kıçını tekmelemek olacak, _Sasha."

Yes, Ymir couldn't see it, but on Krista's face was the most pleased and flattered expression that the world has ever seen. This absolutely _dignity-stripping _event was twisted into something humane and consoling.

It was peculiar to her that her first moment of feeling she truly belonged had occurred because of:

Some blood, a few knocks on the door, and harvested sea sponges.

* * *

_The Calls_

* * *

Her beauty, not to exaggerate, was a marvel blessed upon Constantinople.

Her friend visited every month, at first irregularly, adjusting to her body, but it eventually evened out. The cramps were tolerable, and they were invisible whenever she was out with Ymir. The hormones reacted, acted, mixed, brewed, and they turned her into an alchemically-perfect structure of splendor.

Krista's hips widened – in response to this, her father said she would be good for bearing children. Her chest was not overbearing in its size, but a bosom was a bosom, as Ymir had put it. To her delight, she grew two inches taller, making her a _whooping _four feet and nine inches. She hoped that her growth spurt would continue so that she could rub it in Ymir's face, but the freckled girl would not be fazed. She was almost a foot taller, after all.

As is custom, she was now at the right time to wear a _yaşmak_. Only her eyes could be seen in a crowd. The top of her head was no longer visible, but the sides of her golden hair still sifted alongside her shoulders. Her nose and her mouth could be seen at a closer distance, due to the fine material of the muslin, but otherwise it covered the majority of her facial features. Her father told her about the importance of modesty, that she could now bear sons and must save herself for her future husband.

This did not stop the predatory glances that the neighborhood men shot her.

Her walks to the Bazaar became nerve-wrecking. She had been used to the boys her age looking at her, but that age range extended further into lumpy, old men with fossilized beards and seedy eyes. Krista wondered what drove them to gawk the way they did, she wondered why they would focus their attention on her when they could have a mature, older woman.

The calls started in mid-December.

"_Where is your father, pretty darling?" _they would ask.

"_Look at this fahişe_," they would say.

"_Too young to be walking alone,_" they would comment.

Things like this never happened when she was just younger. They would overlook her like she was nothing but a street urchin, and to be frank, she preferred that. When she finally foraged for the guts to tell Ymir, the brunette stomped her feet and swore that she would cut off their tongues using her fingernails.

The calls could not be avoided as she made her way through Constantinople. They were the on-going events which would never cease. The bright side of this was that:

_Ymir became 'Ymir Bey', a tall girl dressed in a salvar and a smart, wine entari  
Who walked next to her whenever she could, whenever she was not working.  
"Why not?" she'd say, "I sound like a man, my voice is deep enough."  
On her first time acting as an escort to Krista, a man approached them and said,  
"Are you her brother?"  
To which she answered, "It is none of your damn business, çüksuratlı."  
Krista gave a light, silly laugh under her yaşmak.  
The man stormed off and Ymir snickered.  
It felt good to be accompanied by a friend. _

_###_

Becoming a woman, Krista decided, was not so bad.

She will change her mind about this three years later, with tears running down her face.

* * *

**NOTE: Title chapter means: "Growth". Fitting, no?**

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

_gämlek - undertunic_

__kaftan - robe  
__

___Allah aşkına - lit. trans: "For the love of God!" used. trans: "For pity's sake!"  
___

_adet_ \- _menstruation, monthly periods_

_Teşekkür ederim - Thank you, thanks  
_

__Ben kıçını tekmelemek olacak - "I'm going to kick your ass."  
__

_yaşmak - lit. trans: "veil", Turkish type of niqab.  
_

__f__ahişe - whore  
__

_Bey - Mister, gentleman, sir  
_

_salvar - trousers_

_entari - loose coat_

__çüksuratlı_ \- fuckface  
_


	6. VI - Hediye

**VI - **_**Hediye**  
January, 1509_

* * *

_Countdown to Krista's birthday: two days_

* * *

Ymir examined the water.

It smacked the sides of their _gulet_ – lapis lazuli kisses against a humble sailing boat. The winter winds were towing their clouds overhead – slate beasts which carried the vehemence of the heavens above. Their boat rocked alongside the choppy ocean, its waves like small knives cutting the blue surface. They had sailed out from southern Constantinople, gliding for hours and hours until they reached the mouth of the Sea of Crete. At first, Sasha could not be convinced, to put it lightly. She had struggled against Ymir by clawing onto the floor of the docks before the freckled girl finally heaved her up and tossed her into the boat. _Someone _had to be operating it, and Ymir wouldn't be able to, because she was on a mission.

"I swear, you are the dumbest _anasikici _I've ever met," Sasha said. "Why can't you go for the simpler things? A dress? A bauble?"

"Has it occurred to you that we can't even afford a slice of lamb, let alone a dress?" Ymir took her _ferace_ off. "Besides, the baubles in the Bazaar are usually fake."

"Once it rains I will take this boat back, even if it means leaving your _salak _ass behind."

"Everything is going to be fine, Sasha. No need to piss yourself."

"_Fine_?" Sasha threw her hands up. "We are in the deep end of winter and you want to _dive _in the water."

"Your point is?" Ymir shrugged her sandals off, and undressed out of under-tunic, leaving only her trousers on. She grabbed the small net at her feet and tucked it into the waistband of her pants.

"When you hit the water, you're going to _freeze _to death."

Ymir grinned. "You underestimate me."

She pushed herself up onto the edge of the boat, and with a sharp intake of air, leaped off.

"Fucking _salak,_" Sasha muttered to herself.

###

Ymir's form was graceful and strong, her arms and hands piercing into the water like a spear.

Without as much as a splash, her body glided down into the deep ocean. It engulfed her in seconds, her lean muscles flowing against the fading tide. It was _cold_, to say the least. Not a drop of warmth seeped through the ocean, only biting veins which fell into maritime darkness. She opened her eyes, the salt stinging her as she did, but it was easy to get used to it after a few seconds. Kicking violently, she pushed herself downwards, holding her breath carefully. The reef stood out like a sore thumb - it looked like a company of ancient ruins built from rock and sponge. Various sizes of fish swam in and out of the swaying corals – some, she recognized, some she did not. The Sea of Crete had its differences from the Marmara and the Bosphorus. If she could not find one, she thought, she would curse the whole sea. On her last legs of oxygen, she spotted a cluster of oysters by an exposed bed of reef.

_Ymir, you have this chance. Quick! _Her lungs felt like they were shrinking as the milliseconds passed. She swam towards them, counting her breaths. _Just a little further._ She took out her net and began placing all of the oysters inside. At least one _must _contain what she needed. By the time she had gotten all but one oyster, she realized she needed to resurface. Grunting, Ymir clutched the net by its opening and thrust upwards. The light grew closer, and closer until –

The girl gasped for breath.

The air entered her, welcome and full.

Panting, she looked up at the boat beside her. "Sasha! I've got it!" She raised the net.

Sasha's head popped out from the flank. "You actually did it!"

Ymir smiled, water escaping down the sides of her mouth. "Catch!"

She tossed it to Sasha, who caught it with both of her hands. After she placed it on the deck, she threw a piece of rope onto the edge of the boat. Ymir paddled to it, and with a few sharp groans, managed to pull herself back up onto the floor of the _gulet_. She breathlessly sat against the wooden wall of it, brushing away the wet strands of hair from her face.

Sasha draped a towel over her and sat opposite her. "You are _never _going to do that again."

"Why not?" Ymir tugged at the towel, drawing it closer to her body. "It was fun."

"Your lips are turning blue."

"Perhaps I should ask Krista for a kiss, then."

Sasha sighed at the comment, but placed the net in between them. "Shall we have a look, then?"

"_Evet._"

The first oyster had one, but it was too small. The second one was empty. The third one was too uneven. The fourth one was uneven too. The fifth one had an odd shape.

Sasha had the last one in her hand. "Alright, sixth. I say we use the third one. It seems to be the most decent-looking."

"I won't settle for less, Sasha." Ymir was becoming infuriated. She was angry at herself for not being able to have gotten that remaining oyster in the sea – what if it held the perfect one? At this point, she wouldn't be able to get into the water. It was too risky for her health.

"Ymir, she's going to like it, whatever you give her."

"Just open it."

Sasha pried the oyster with her hunting knife. The grains of sand and scrapings of mollusk grated against the blade. It unlocked with a small, snapping sound. The inside of the oyster was iridescent, its glimmering colours playing across its smooth ridges. Resting upon it was a faultless pearl – predominantly white, but from different vantage points, you would see a shimmering coat of teal and mint prancing together in colourful harmony.

"_Mükemmel_." Ymir beamed. "Set sail for the docks, Sasha!"

Even Sasha, who had been completely sour about this endeavor, was now in a good mood. It was not fruitless after all. She pulled the anchor back up and went behind the wheel. "Aye, _kaptan_!"

* * *

_Countdown to Krista's birthday: one day  
_

* * *

Neither of them had any experience with making a necklace.

It made sense, considering they were simply fishermen, but it was an inconvenience. When Mikasa came to their trading post to buy some fish, Sasha stopped her and begged for her assistance. She gestured to Ymir, who was pacing up and down the docks like a madwoman. The situation was explained, and to their luck, the girl agreed to help. She took them to a jeweler on the west side of the city. His shop was crowded - full of people who gaped at and admired the works he displayed on the walls. They consisted of gem-inlaid rings, necklaces and earrings. Sapphires, rubies, emeralds and diamonds twinkled around them.

When the jeweler saw Mikasa, he politely asked the crowd to leave. They were confused as to what his reason was, but they dispersed eventually.

"_Selamun aleyküm,_" he greeted. "What can I do for you today?"

"Arlert bey," Mikasa said, "my friends need a necklace."

"Oh?" He produced a pair of eyeglasses from his robe and placed it on the bridge of his nose. "What sort, may I ask?"

Ymir took the oyster out of her rucksack and gently set it on the counter. She opened it. "A pearl necklace, _bay__ım_."

"_Biçimli_. Absolutely beautiful." The blonde jeweler peered closer, scrutinizing it. "A silk thread through it, yes…do you want it simple, just like that?"

"The lady wearing it will be the decoration," answered Ymir. "The pearl is just an enhancement to her beauty."

"A romantic!" He chuckled. "Alright. For Bayan Mikasa's friends, free of charge. It will only take a few hours. Come back in the afternoon."

###

As they lounged around the nearby shops to pass the time, Sasha went off to buy _şiş kebabs_. When she was about to pay, however, she caught sight of a petite girl weaving her way through the crowd. Panicked, she dropped the money onto the ground and ran away from the scene with the skewers in her hands. By the time she reached Mikasa and Ymir, she was panting heavily.

Mikasa put a hand on her shoulder. "What's the matter?"

"Krista! She – she's coming our way!"

"You're sure it was her?" Ymir asked.

"Yes, _çok emin_."

Ymir straightened herself. "Alright. Everyone, act normal. _Don't _say a damned thing about the pearl."

Out of the three of them, Ymir was acting the most suspicious. She kept shifting her feet around, looking up, looking down, turning side to side, scratching her head. Sasha was tamed with the food, and soon she forgot they had anything to hide at all.

"Ymir, you're making me dizzy," said Mikasa. "Just relax. Look – here she comes."

Ymir held her breath as Krista approached them. Her veil covered her face, but from her eyes, she could tell that she was smiling.

"I went to the trading post to look for you," she said, "but Shadis bey told me you were going to be in the western districts."

"Is that so?" Ymir cursed Shadis in her head. "Oh –ah, Krista, this is Mikasa, by the way."

Krista turned to the girl. "_Merhaba_. We've seen each other a few times."

Mikasa nodded. "Yes, I see that we both come to the trading posts often."

Ymir and Sasha blushed in unison.

"O-our fish must be very good, then." Sasha gave a mortified smile.

"Indeed." Ymir elbowed Sasha in the ribs. "They would not come for our good looks, after all."

Sasha frowned at Ymir. "_En azindan ben senin gibi çirkin değilim_," she whispered.

"We can hear you," said Mikasa.

Krista laughed. "Neither of you are ugly, do not worry. I am sure that Mikasa and I appreciate the attractiveness of our fishermen."

Mikasa began to nod, but at the realization of the sentence said, stopped and blushed.

Ymir turned so deep a red she looked like she was bleeding. "Funny, Krista. Very funny."

"Who said I was joking?"

"I am going to die from my shame," murmured Sasha.

Mikasa cleared her throat. "Krista, why don't we have a look at the shops?"

"A wonderful idea!" The blonde grinned beneath her _yaşmak._ "Ymir? Sasha? Will you come too?"

"They have – they have something they need to do." Mikasa took Krista's arm. "Don't you?"

"Yes," Ymir said slowly. "We have…a…fishing…thing."

"Very important, you see." Sasha coughed. "Can't be helped."

Krista's smile dropped, but she nodded in understanding. "Oh, alright. But you will have to make this up to me, Ymir!"

"I will." Ymir promised. "Go on, now. Mikasa knows a lot of good dress shops."

The two girls left, their swirling robes swaying behind them. When they were out of earshot, Sasha placed her hands on her hips.

"What have they done to us?" she asked.

"All this, and more," replied Ymir.

* * *

_Countdown to Krista's birthday: zero days  
_

* * *

There was no celebration that Ymir was aware of, not from her father.

What could she expect? He was a pig of a man and though Ymir wished Krista would leave his household, she respected her reasons on why she cannot, and why she would not. Obviously, it was up to her now to throw the celebration. Before she left the house, she brushed her hair and attempted to smoothen down her locks. Key word: _attempted_. They still stuck out, to her displeasure. She put on her cleanest pair of trousers she had, though it had a small rip at the knee. Her best _yelek _was a pale shade of sangria embroidered with a marigold thread. It was good enough. Krista would like her even if she wore a potato sack, anyway.

Ymir walked to Krista's house, where she found the girl sitting by the steps, a forlorn expression on her face. It could not be seen by anyone else, because of the veil, but Ymir recognized those eyes. She fiddled with the necklace in her pocket before moving towards her. It was wrapped in hemp paper and tied with a straw string.

"Krista! Why the long face?"

Krista's head shot up and she ran towards Ymir. Ignoring policies of modesty and the watchful stares of the people around them, she hugged her.

"Oomph!" Ymir, taken aback by the act, chortled. "You should be happy today. It is a very special day."

Krista let go of her, and smiled shyly. "Yes, but…my father. He did not even acknowledge me this morning."

"Your father does not matter, in the grand scheme of things." Ymir took her hand. "He can stick himself."

"Are we going somewhere?"

"Just trust me." Ymir winked.

"Yes, Ymir bey."

###

Krista clung to Ymir's arm, her eyes closed.

"Are we there?"

"Close."

Ymir had her hand upon the girl's arm, guiding her to the venue of the celebration. Her heart raced out of anxiety and fear. What if Krista didn't like it? What if she thought it was horrible? What if it wasn't what she wanted? Last night, she expressed these fears to Sasha, who told her for the millionth time that Krista would like it, that she would like _anything _Ymir prepared for her. Unconvinced of these assurances, she told her to meet them at the restaurant by the Bosphorus, and to bring Mikasa with her.

Their breaths were visible in the air. There was frost hanging onto the rooftops of houses, light powders of snow scattered in patches on the streets. Unlike the simmering hazardous rains from two days prior, today was a stunning and brusque winter day. A cool breeze drifted from the coast, creating pleasant chills on their faces.

Once they were standing directly in front of the place, Ymir placed her hands upon Krista's eyes. "Are you ready?"

The girl nodded.

Ymir removed her hands.

On a long table, two plates of _palamut_ sat, ready to eat. A platter of humus, lentils and cottage cheese stood in between the fish. There were cold mugs of _ayran_ for each of them. It was the very same restaurant where Krista and Ymir ate when they had just met each other. From out of the benches, Sasha and Mikasa jumped upwards. Mikasa's jump was less energetic than Sasha's, but her smile behind the scarf proved that she was more than enthusiastic.

Together, they shouted,

"_Doğum günün kutlu olsun!" _

The freckled girl moved in front of Krista in order to see her reaction. Her grin fell when she saw the blonde tearing up.

"I knew we should have gone with the streamers," whispered Sasha. Mikasa nudged her to be quiet.

"Krista?" Ymir's heart sank. "Don't you like it?"

Krista's sobs came softly, in puffs of air lit by buoyant lungs. "N-no, I do. I like it very much."

"I could change the food," Ymir suggested. "We could have other things plated."

"The food is fine, Ymir. Th-there's nothing wrong here."

"Then why are you-"

"Because it's so perfect!" cried Krista. "No one has ever done this for me."

"Oh." Ymir's smile appeared again. Her fear dispelled inside of her, replaced by a frivolous warmth that she had never experienced in her life before. "T-then, I suppose I will give you my gift now."

"Gift?" Krista gently took Ymir's arms. "If you must know, I was joking those few months ago when I said I wanted a gift."

Ymir shook her head, and took the package out of her pocket. "Joking or not, I would have gotten you one anyway."

She pulled the string loose and unfurled the paper on her palm. Krista's mouth went into the shape of an 'o' behind her veil. With a timid hand, she reached for it, the tips of her fingers caressing the pearl.

"Ymir…" she sighed softly.

Ymir took the necklace by its string and tied it around Krista's neck. It fit her perfectly, just hanging above her bosom. Krista held it in her hands for awhile, staring at it with glossed-over eyes. The luster of the pearl gleamed vibrantly. Tiptoeing, Krista wrapped her arms around Ymir's shoulders. The taller of the two bent her knees in order to accommodate their size difference.

"Thank you," Krista breathed into the nape of her neck. "I don't know what to say."

Ymir swathed her lanky arms around her waist, drawing them closer. She could smell the sweetness of Krista's hair. "_İyiki doğdun_, my flower."

###

For the first time in Krista's life, she:

_i - was happy on her birthday.  
ii - __did not want to die. _

* * *

**NOTE: Chapter title is: "Gift"  
**

**A/N: I created a fanmix to go along with this fic. Click the link on my profile to go on it!  
**

* * *

**GLOSSARY **

_gulet - two-masted or three-masted wooden sailing vessel; usually built in Turkish coastal cities like Bodrum and Marmaris  
_

__anasikici - motherfucker  
__

_ferace - overmantle (for wearing outdoors)  
_

__evet - yes  
__

___mükemme_l - excellent, perfect  
__

__kaptan - captain  
__

___Selamun aleyküm - Turkish greeting; derives from Arabic greeting "As-salamu alaykum", often used by Muslims; is the equivalent of "hello" or "good day"  
___

_bey - mister; used after a man's name  
_

__bayım - sir  
__

__biçimli - well-cut, sleek  
__

__bayan - miss/mrs; used before a woman's name  
__

___çok emin - very sure  
___

_Merhaba - hello, hi  
_

__En azindan ben senin gibi çirkin değilim - "At least I'm not ugly like you".  
__

__yelek - vest__

_ayran - cold yoghurt beverage mixed with salt  
_

__Doğum günün kutlu olsun - lit. trans "May your birthday be celebrated." used. trans "Happy birthday!"  
__

_İyiki doğdun - "It is a good thing you were born."; also used as "Happy birthday!"  
_


	7. VII - Boksör

**VII – Boksör  
**_Spring, 1509_

* * *

After Ymir turned sixteen in February, the springtime became the occasion in which Krista noticed the changes in her. It had nothing to do with puberty, and everything to do with:

_The rumour of a suitor,  
A fist-fight,  
And a good talk with Father._

* * *

_Her Jaw_

* * *

It was the first change which Krista noticed.

It seemed to have lengthened a little bit, literally by a few millimeters. It was the most bizarre observance which she ever had. No one would simply see such things. She rubbed her eyes and told herself she was imagining it, but it was really _there_ and it was visible to no one but _her_. It was jagged, like the curve of a mountain. Under the springtime sun, Ymir's skin took on a shade of vivacious marmalade, defining the bones alongside her jowls.

On a Friday in late-April, it clenched and unclenched viciously after receiving unpleasant news.

"Ymir?"

"What!?"

"Don't be angry."

Ymir sighed. "How can you expect me _not _to be angry?"

On the front steps of Krista's house they sat, their shoulders pushing together against the cramped space. Ymir's legs were struggling for room, protruding awkwardly from beneath her.

"_Üzgünüm_," Krista said.

"It's not your fault."

Krista _knew _how difficult it was for the taller girl to make use of the tight area, but she was unmovable from her spot when Ymir found her crying furiously on the porch. The taller girl did not ask for them to sit somewhere else, to talk somewhere else, and Krista was gratified that she didn't. She was already feeling nauseous, and felt that if she did so much as stand up, she would throw up and faint.

"Can we still be friends?"

"What kind of a question is that!?" Ymir snapped. "You're not going to be able to see me anymore. He is going to keep you for himself. Why would he let you visit your filth of a friend!?"

Krista's sobs grew harsher. "I do not want to marry him, Ymir. I do not even know his _name_."

Ymir rubbed circles in Krista's back. Her voice grew soft. "I didn't mean to get angry at you."

"I know." Krista rested her head upon Ymir's shoulder and wept into her.

###

**_{The proposal, a few hours earlier}_**

_The man was a keg, his chest a barrel  
Full of money and social standing  
His clothes of the richest materials  
His knuckles decorated with gold  
His eyes hard and unkind_

_And when Father presented her to him,  
He nodded, said "Evet. Yes,  
She will do." _

_The men shook hands and  
It was clear to Krista that  
She was a deal, not a daughter  
A product, not a person  
A woman, not a human. _

###

Her future was a message in a bottle that had been shoved down her throat, but as they sat on the front porch, the world refused to end. Ymir had been quietly holding Krista for some time. She would not say it, but Krista knew Ymir's legs were going numb, her feet growing pins and needles for the sake of keeping her close. As the sun commenced its decline and the light failed to reach their faces, Krista let her hand drift upwards.

Her fingers lightly touched Ymir's jaw, tracing the way it began from the lobe of her ear down to her chin. The skin was rough, like she expected, but more juvenile than she thought.

"Krista?" Ymir asked, but she did not swat the hand away.

"I am too young, aren't I?"

"Yes."

"Why must it be like this?"

"It won't."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

"With all of your heart?"

"With all of me, my _ҫiҫek_." Ymir placed her hand over Krista's, and together they ran the length of her jaw.

###

The promise was forgotten by Krista, for she did not want to hope.  
The promise was remembered by Ymir, for she had a plan of her own.

* * *

_Her Arms_

* * *

Tonight they danced underneath the moonlight, undulating and surging.

Whenever Krista took a break from working at the bookstore, she would visit Ymir at the docks and watch her do hard labour. Her arms were slender, but not so thin that they were wiry. They were loaded with jarring muscles which sprung out like hills upon her body. Steered by the stars overhead, Krista could see that they were slick with sweat. They glistened carnally, growing rigid at blocks and expanding far at punches. Her _entari_ lay crumpled and abandoned beside Krista. The only items upon her person were frayed trousers and a sleeveless cotton shirt.

In the ruins of the Hippodrome of Constantinople, they fought. The ruins exhaled past glory, its corroding bleachers bearing the ghosts of a hundred thousand spectators. They cheered and begged for blood, the deteriorating walls of limestone and concrete shuddering at the thought of a clash. In the ancient days of Byzantium, it had been used for chariot races, but today, it was the ring for two boxers.

Ymir's opponent was a stalwart man with hair the colour of daffodils. He had stripped down to his trousers, leaving his thickset and hairy chest exposed. His abdomen was made of stone, his enormous arms like thick logs that had been whittled down to become clubs.

_No one_ could question Ymir's strength.

Whispers made by rival fishermen labeled her as the '_Küpește' – _the Bulwark. She was more than capable of lifting several heavy boxes and nets by herself. Her endurance and her agility as a swimmer earned her respect throughout the businesses of fishing and sailing.

Krista feared these achievements were not enough.  
The man was at least six feet. He was a tower.

The man swung a fist at Ymir, who dodged it immediately. She kneed him in the crotch. Buckling over, he quickly regained his composure. Caught off-guard, he threw her an uppercut. In seconds, she hit the ground on her back.

"Ymir!" Krista howled. She thrashed and kicked, desperately trying to get out of her restraints. Her arms were held behind her, her body pulled back from the scene.

"Krista, stop!" Sasha tightened her hold on the blonde.

"Let me go! She needs my help!"

Mikasa extended her arm across Krista's chest. "She is doing this for you. Let her."

###

**{****_The invitation, a few hours earlier}_**

_Ymir bribed the neighborhood men  
To tell her who the bastard was  
They pocketed the coin and said,  
"They call him the Ox of Constantinople  
His family is wealthy, he lives  
Nearby Topkapı, with two of his wives."_

_A name?  
No, Ymir bey, we do not know his name.  
Can you relay a message?  
Yes, Ymir bey. What would it be?_

_Tell him to meet me at midnight,  
In the old Hippodrome.  
Anything else?  
Yes, tell him that he will not  
Marry the girl. _

_###_

The Ox took Ymir by her neck. "_Who _are you, to challenge me? _Who _are you, to fight?"

Ymir clawed at his fists.

"Know your place, _kadın_."

"I do."

Ymir spat in his face. His hands dropped from her neck as he stumbled back, wiping the saliva off. It had been mixed with blood. Taking advantage of the situation, she lunged towards him and grabbed him by his waist. The Ox tripped – as they say, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Blood seeped from his forehead, and though he tried to get back up, she would not let him.

They were a mess of limbs and sweat, a rabble where one fought for the right to take a girl's virginity, and the other fought for the right to give a girl her freedom.

A grisly scene described:

_The Bulwark catapulted a dozen punches to the Ox's face  
He whimpered and begged for mercy, but  
She would not stop until  
He bled from his lips, and his nose,  
And his eyes._

In shock, Krista watched as the beast of a man blacked out, his body unmoving and almost cold. It was not the night wind which made her quake, no – it was Ymir, who wiped the blood from her face and made her way back to Krista. The lightning in her eyes sparked frissons and fire inside the girl, awakening her carnal relief and her sadistic joy. When they saw that she was no longer resisting, Mikasa and Sasha removed her from their clutches.

There was something ferociously appealing about the crackling bone in Ymir's arms, the way they had dispatched of the Ox so easily in the end. Krista ran towards Ymir to close their distance, and once they were a few centimetres apart, she scrambled at her shirt. The tears which were frozen upon her cheeks seconds ago had thawed and were now soaking into the salty skin of Ymir's arms.

"He is not dead," Ymir mumbled, her lips atop Krista's head. "But he will not try to marry you again."

"Why would you risk your life like that?" Krista cried. "You could have _died_."

"What good is my life if you are going to leave it?"

###

Krista would not let go of Ymir, not for a good twenty minutes. She loved the strength which streamed out of the girl's biceps when she squeezed her firmly. These arms were home, where she belonged.

* * *

_Her Voice_

* * *

Irrefutably, it was deep.

Its wavelengths were husky and masculine, and sometimes it reminded Krista of a pipe of smoke or a bonfire. It was intimidating to the naked eye, but its base was composed of fortification and security. As she thought about it, she reminisced about the time she first met Ymir. On the surface was a mysterious and almost charming girl who was trouble from the first time she said 'hello'. Yet, as Krista watched her from the corner of her eye, she could not help but think about how many layers there were to her voice.

They were all sitting in the living room of Krista's house. Her father was on his armchair, his fingers creating a tedious rhythm upon the edge of the varnished wood. Krista was standing behind him, as per his command, whilst Ymir was as far away as she could be from the two of them. From the moment she had stepped in, her father initiated his best scowl, and not for a single second did it drop.

"_Selamun aleyküm_," he said. "Do you know why I have called you to my home, Ymir _bey_?"

"Nay, _beyefendi_." Ymir's hands were behind her back as she stood up straight.

"So, you _do _have manners. I wonder – where did my daughter pick you up? In the landfills?"

"_Baba-_" Krista interjected.

A fist rose from the armchair. "_Benim misafirler önünde beni utandırma_, _velet._"

"I am her friend," Ymir answered.

"Tell me – what is your business parading around like a man? Are you sinful?"

"_Olabilir._"

Her father scoffed. "It does not matter. Your kind are all the same to me."

"As you say."

"_As you say?_" He leaned forward and laughed. "The tongue on this one!"

"Stop," Krista said. "She hasn't done _anything _wrong."

"Really? Come here."

Krista and Ymir's eyes met. They poured themselves into a pot of worry and concern. The brunette's mouth was half-open, her eyes lidded and fierce as she carefully inspected every move that her father was taking towards Krista. The blonde evaded him as best as she could, doing nothing to pay attention towards him. His right hand, all bone and sticks, darted from its spot on the chair and grappled her cheeks, his yellow fingernails hooked onto her skin.

"You look at me when I talk to you." He twisted her head around. "Understand?"

Father had a short, round head with ugly creases on his forehead. Knobby eyes which looked nothing like Krista's. Bristly, callous hairs on his upper lip that seemed like they were only glued on. Krista used to wonder how his whiskers would feel on her cheek if he kissed her goodnight. They were thoughts that leaked a long time ago, and they were not present anymore. For that, she was grateful. He did not deserve to kiss her. She would not have thought so a year prior, but meeting Ymir changed that.

Krista nodded, undeterred. Having Ymir in the same room made her feel like she had power, like she had a _choice_ for once.

"_Iyi_." He pushed her away. "And don't talk out of turn ever _again_."

Krista massaged her lower cheeks as she turned to Ymir. The freckled girl's eyes were set alight with anger. Her hands were by her sides now, fastening and unfastening impatiently.

"Respectfully, _beyefendi_," said Ymir through gritted teeth, "I must ask you not to do that to her again."

_Don't_, mouthed Krista.

"_Beni affet_." Father clicked his tongue. "I know it is not right to strike my daughter in front of anyone else. I shall only do it when you are not around, Ymir _bey_."

He was mocking her now. Krista could hear it from the way he addressed her. If it bothered Ymir, however, she did not show it. When Ymir looked to Krista for her permission to speak freely, the blonde shook her head.

Resigned, Ymir sighed. "What is my purpose here?"

"My daughter's engagement was severed a few days ago."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Do _not _play games with me. I have a few eyes and ears wthin the city."

Ymir hesitated.

"You see, I cannot stop you from doing what you want. You can keep your stupid notions to yourself, but I will not have my daughter involved."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Her voice excavated itself. It grew deeper.

"You know _damn_ well what I'm talking about!" Krista's father threw his fist against the chair. "If it happens a second time, you will never be able to see her again."

"If it happens a second time, I will _protect _her." Ymir was not a youth anymore. She was not the self-serving adolescent that Krista knew her to be.

"She is not _yours _to protect."

"And she is not _yours _to own!"

"I'm _warning _you, you fucking _bok parçası_." His voice was demanding and belligerent but to Krista, it was weak. "There are worse fates than death."

Krista could see the sweat on Ymir's temples. Her neck bobbed as she swallowed silently. "I am always willing to take that risk, _beyefendi_."

Father turned away and placed his thumb and his forefinger on the bridge of his nose. "Get _out_. Bring my daughter with you. You better hope that we will never have to talk again."

###

**_{A conversation on the outside}_**

_Ymir, how did you do that?  
Do what?  
Your voice.  
My voice?  
It reminded me of the old stories of conquest,  
Like when Sultan Mehmet II overpowered the  
Byzantines and captured Constantinople_.

_Ymir laughed, is that a good thing?  
I love it.  
You love it?  
Evet.  
You are one of a kind, Krista.  
So are you. _

_###_

A happy ending:

The Ox of Constantinople will come back when Krista is at the age of nineteen, and Ymir is far away in eastern Anataolia, fighting for the glory of the Empire.

* * *

**NOTE: Title chapter means: "Fighter" (other translations include: boxer, pugilist)**

**A/N: I created a fanmix to go along with this fic. Go on my profile to get the link!**

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

_Üzgünüm - I'm sorry_

__Evet_ \- yes  
_

__entari_ \- loose coat_

__Küpește - bulwark__

___kadın_ \- woman__

___beyefendi_ \- used title for a man whose name that you do not know; sir, __

___Baba_ \- father, can be used to address an older wise person__

____Benim misafirler önünde beni utandırma_, _velet - rough trans: "Do not embarrass me in front of my guest, brat."____

_____Olabilir_ \- maybe, perhaps____

_____Iyi_ \- good____

_____Beni affet_ \- forgive me____

_____bok parçası_ \- piece of shit____


	8. VIII - Miras

_"__You amuse me with your touch  
although I can't see your hands.  
You have kissed me with tenderness  
although I haven't seen your lips.  
You are hidden from me."_

_\- Rumi_

* * *

**VIII – Miras  
**_Summer-Autumn, 1509_

* * *

The summer was spent on the docks, fishing for _sardalya _and _kiliç_. Business was hitting an all-time high, mainly because Shadis' fishing company was very efficient and hardworking, but partially also because of Ymir's reputation. During the itchy nights where the breeze would not come to save them, the fishermen would gather around and put their mugs together, exclaiming, "To the _Küpește! _Somewhere, out there, they are sticking it to the rich pigs!"

Not many people knew of the real reason why Ymir had fought the Ox of Constantinople, but that did not matter. The word had already spread that this fisherman, a peasant, had defeated the affluent brute. The poorer districts recognized her as a rebel hero whom stood up to the corrupt aristocracy. The name 'Ymir' was on countless lips, a vague identity – one that made people question, was this 'Ymir' a man, or a woman? The fishermen of the docks had no qualms with her – they respected her, and it did not matter to them that she was a woman. Even the districts that idolized her had an unspoken agreement that if Ymir was a woman, they would not bat an eyelash. However, this tolerating attitude was not practiced by the _muezzin _and the nobles in the richer neighborhoods. When their opinions would be asked on the matter, they would say that the _Küpește _was nothing but a thug, that if they were a woman, it would be absolute blasphemy.

Nevertheless, apprentices stacked themselves upon Shadis' fishing company, hoping that they too would get somewhere, like the Bulwark of Constantinople. There had been four new recruits on the month of June, all around the age of thirteen. Shadis placed them under Ymir and Sasha's guidance, and within July, they became the leaders of what was colloquially known as '_Yüz D__ördüncü__'_ – the 'One Hundred Fourth'.

###

The name started with a little conversation:

"Ymir abla." It was Tomas, one of the younger recruits. "Do you know how many times Shadis efendim has cursed?"

Ymir stopped cleaning the planks of one of their _qayïk_ and looked up at him. "An odd question."

"We want to know," Mina said. She was fixing up a net. "We have never had a day where we did not hear him swear."

"_Please_, Ymir abla," Hanna said.

The recruits had taken to calling Ymir their 'big sister', and though it peeved her out at first, to have people looking up to her, she eventually warmed up to it. She dropped the cloth onto the dock. "I don't know. Perhaps _a hundred_?"

"No, no." Franz shook his head. "More than that."

"A hundred…and four?" guessed Ymir. She had absolutely no idea where this was going. The recruits were in their own generation; sometimes she could not understand their inner workings.

Mina giggled. "Very…on the mark, Ymir abla."

"A hundred and four it is." Tomas grinned.

* * *

On one night in late-August, Sasha pestered Ymir to join them for a round of drinks. She refused, at first, for she was planning to sleep in early so that she could get more work done tomorrow. However, when Sasha mentioned that she had invited Krista, Ymir accepted the offer in a heartbeat. Sasha had arranged for a local _kafe _to have three pitchers of _ayran _and a few mugs ready for them at Shadis' trading post by the Golden Horn. The summer was beginning to take its humidity and its barren air away from Constantinople, leaving room for the incoming autumn. The smell of incense from the nearby mosques had floated onto the bay, the air tasting like divine intervention and resin. The recruits placed lumpy cushions around in a circle just by the front of the trading post. They brought oil lamps and lit them accordingly – the drowsy flickering of the fire like tigers snarling under the night sky.

_Krista's kaftan _was in a shade of mulberry satin, the needlework done in a silver thread. She had not decided to wear her _yaşmak, _her reason being that she was with friends, that society need not influence her when it was only her and her peers. The pearl necklace she gave her was sitting on her chest, glowing softly. Ymir could not help but think about how beautiful she was.

"Ymir! Oy!"

Two fingers were snapped in front of her.

Ymir shook her head, her mind snapping out of her daydream. "Wh-what?"

Her recruits and Sasha were all facing her, cheeky and knowing smiles upon their faces. Franz had been trying his best not to spit out his drink from laughter.

"What did I tell you, kids? Look at this lovestruck _salak_." Sasha took a swig from her mug.

"Krista hanim, is she usually like this?" asked Hanna.

"Worse." Krista chuckled. "Usually worse."

"Hey! I'm not lovestruck!" Ymir protested. Her cheeks grew warm. "You should see Sasha when she is around Mikasa. Her legs become like a bow and before you know it, she's already pissed herself!"

Sasha blushed. "That was _one _time."

"No way!" Franz exclaimed. "Sasha abla, is she serious?"

Krista was laughing so much that she had to look away from everyone else for a minute.

"I-I cannot _breathe_," wheezed Tomas.

Mina snorted. "By Allah, wait until the rest of Constantinople hears about this!"

"_Tamam_, _tamam_." Ymir crossed her arms. "What happens in the _Yüz D__ördüncü _stays in the _Yüz D__ördüncü_. Sasha's shame will only be ours to laugh at."

All of the recruits sighed together and said, "Yes, Ymir abla."

"I never thought you would be one to lead," Krista said, turning to Ymir.

"I'm not really _leading_. I'm just making sure that they don't bump heads with each other."

"That is _exactly_ what leading is." Sasha smiled. "Hey – you kids want to hear about Ymir's fight with the Ox?"

Their eyes glittered simultaneously as they scooted closer to the circle, their faces eager and hungry for the tale.

"We've only heard bits and pieces," said Tomas. "We haven't heard all of it!"

"Sasha…" Ymir smacked herself with her palm.

Ignoring her, Sasha began. "The Ox was as big as a lion…."

Ymir rolled her eyes at the exaggerated extracts, and at points she would stop the story to tell them what _actually _happened. Krista tugged at her sleeve every time she did, whispering that the recruits were loving it and were becoming inspired, so there was no harm done in the embellishing the story a tad bit. Ymir agreed with her eventually, and let Sasha tell her explicit version of the fight at the Hippodrome. When she was done, they all clapped and hooted for Ymir. Embarrassed, she scratched her head smiled awkwardly.

"I would have paid to see that!" said Hanna.

Franz nodded. "You were _so _brave, Ymir abla."

"And it was all for Krista hanim's honour!" Mina swooned.

"Well – honour, I wouldn't really-" stuttered Ymir.

"So that she would not have to marry the Ox!" Tomas said, almost spilling his drink out of excitement.

"Yes, but-"

"She did not even tell me what she was planning," said Krista. "It was only until I pressured Sasha into telling me that I learned of it, so I immediately ran to the Hippodrome!"

Mina gasped. "Ymir abla, you did not tell her because you did not want her to worry, right?"

"Correct, but let me say-"

"Oh, I wish I could have someone care for me like that," Hanna said, her hands clasped together under her chin.

Franz rubbed the back of his neck. "I-I could…be that someone."

As Sasha, Mina and Tomas ribbed and prodded Franz and Hanna's budding relationship, Ymir felt so hot that she downed her mug in a single gulp. She refilled it, heat furiously creeping to her cheeks, and she chugged it again. Krista put a hand over the mouth of her mug as she took the pitcher for the third time that evening.

The blonde gently smiled at her. "Slow down. You're going to have a bellyache if you continue."

Ymir let go of the handle and leaned back. "It's just…very – very hot out here, wouldn't you agree?"

"It's okay, Ymir." Krista took her hand. "They were just teasing us."

"No, it's not that," Ymir said, "it's so hot this evening – would you look at that? I'm sweating."

"You know," the girl said quietly, "I haven't thanked you for all you've done for me."

"You don't need to." Ymir swiped her hand away from Krista's grip.

"If there's _anything _you want, I'll give it to you."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Before she could stop herself, Ymir uttered out, "What about a kiss?"

"You could have _anything, _Ymir." Krista looked away. "A new pair of trousers, a shiny _kaftan, _I could buy you a sword, if you wanted."

"And?"

"But you want a _kiss_."

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Do I sound like I'm not?"

"Why do you want a kiss?"

"Because."

"Because?"

"I was only testing you, Krista." Ymir grunted. "I don't want a kiss."

Krista rubbed her eyes, and turned back to Ymir. "Of course." She gave a small laugh. "I was silly to think that you were serious."

Ymir laughed nervously. "Yeah. You know I like kidding around."

"Hey, you two!" called Sasha. "Are you done being in your own little bubble, or what? You didn't see the kiss I dared Franz and Hanna to do!"

"I'm so sorry, Sasha!" apologized Krista. "I was trying to stop Ymir from drinking herself to death."

Ymir rolled her eyes. "What was this kiss, anyway?"

Hanna blushed. "I'm not going to do it again, Ymir abla!"

"N-neither am I!" Franz said. His ears were red.

"Hey, Mina," said Tomas, "bet you ten coppers that Hanna and Franz are going to end up marrying each other."

"You're on!" Mina smirked.

Ymir spent the rest of the night constantly sighing, uninterested in the conversation. Her mind drifted towards Krista, thinking about how her lips tasted, if she would have been able to taste them through the honesty of her feelings.

###

A small note:

It is Mina who will win the bet, but she won't rejoice in this triumph. None of them will.

* * *

Ymir had taken it upon herself to visit the horses alone on a Monday in early September.

Without question, she would have brought Krista along, knowing how much she loved them. By unlucky circumstances, though, the girl was too busy ordering new prints and editions of various books. When Ymir stopped by to ask her if she wanted to come, she had bit her lip and wearily told her that there were at least fifteen customers waiting on a few copies of The Vita Nuova and Inferno, both by Dante Alighieri, an author whom Ymir had never heard of. Krista promised her that they would read Inferno together, after they finished Metamorphoses. With that, Ymir left for the stables in southern Constantinople.

Some of the urchins who were playing _uzun ejek _had ceased the bending of their backs and their long hopping when they saw her passing by. Their naïve eyes pointed to the brunette. High-pitched voices reverberated throughout the streets.

"The _Küpește_! The _Küpește!_"

"Bulwark of the Docks!"

"I did not expect her to be so tall."

"She took down the Ox all by herself!?"

"But she is so lanky!"

Ymir had to smile at the last comment she heard. When she was younger, her mother often told her that she was so skinny, all knees and teeth that would be stained with dirt after her and her father would work in the fields. She tucked her hands into the hem of her trousers. Sometimes the memories of them hurt, but sometimes they did not.

###

When she reached the stables, one thought occurred -

_Was it fate or Allah who brought this young man here?_

By providence itself, this was the first time that she had seen him in daylight, fully visible, with nothing obscure and hidden about him. Whenever she visited, she had a feeling that he was actively avoiding her, but did not know why. From a short distance, she watched as he fed Kraliçe a carrot, and Aslan-yürek a cube of sugar. His head was cropped in a buzzcut, a widow's peak on his forehead. The colour of his eyes was tawny, and had with a determination in them that Ymir could not put her finger on.

She waved a hand in the air. "Hey!"

The young man looked up towards the sound of her voice. Ymir half-expected him to bolt at the sight of her, but instead, he frowned and crossed his arms. It was not exactly the kind of meeting that she thought they would have. Ymir walked towards him, stopping when they were ten feet apart. She sent him daggers of her own, her lower lip jutting out in defiance.

"What do _you_ want?" he said.

"What do _I _want?" Ymir jeered. "I want to _know _why you have been taking care of these horses."

"It is none of your business."

"It is! These are _my _horses! They were my family's horses!"

"Don't lie to me," he barked. "I've seen you around, poking at them. You just want to steal them and sell them, is that it?"

"If I wanted to _do _that, wouldn't have I done it by now? Use your brain."

"I suppose." He sucked in a wad of air. "If they were your family's horses, then tell me about them."

"Why? What _good _would that do? How would you know if I was telling the truth?"

"Do you want to know who I am, or not?"

Ymir exhaled noisily. "Before my father died, he told me that our horses would be taken care of, that I did not have to worry."

It was a story she rehearsed in her head, a story that had been told by the bleeding lips of a man who knew that he only had seconds left to live in his world.

###

**_{The history lesson that was also a promise}_**

_In the Year 1481,  
When Sultan Bayezid II was still a prince, he fought his brother  
For the throne of the Ottoman Empire._

_Ymir's father, who was known as the '__Tek Gözlü Şeytan' – the One-Eyed Devil,  
Had been fighting on the opposite side, an Egyptian Mamluk himself._

_The young man's father was a Janissary who had been wounded by a spear,  
And the One-Eyed Devil saw him alone underneath a sycamore fig tree,  
Waiting for Death. _

_"__Do not touch me, Mamluk."  
"You will die. Here, these leaves should help. An old trick."  
"We do not fight for the same man. Take your herbs and go."  
"Yes, we fight for two different claimants to the Sultanate, but do we not come from the same God?"_

_"__We will survive this together, my friend."  
The man gave in. He was grateful. "__Inşallah."_

_The Devil paused. "But...you must do something for me, in return."  
"Anything."  
"When I die, you must take care of two horses."  
"Two horses?"  
"Yes."  
"Whatever for?"  
"They will belong to my descendants."  
The man nodded. "It is a small favour in exchange for my life."_

_On an absconding battlefield in Bursa, two men made a promise that would be passed onto their children._

_###_

The young man stared at her, speechless. "So...it _is _you. The daughter of the Mamluk who saved my father's life."

"But...if it was your father, then why are the horses in _your _care?"

"He died years ago, from pneumonia." Tears wet his eyes. "His last wish was for me to keep his promise."

Though she could feel her own heart stuck in her throat, Ymir managed to keep her voice still. "I am Ymir."

He shook her hand. "Connie. I think our fathers would have wanted us to be friends."

_"__Gerçekten_. Truly." A smile found its way to her lips. "I work at the Golden Horn. If you ever want to drop by, do so."

"And you are welcome to see your horses anytime."

###

It was unwritten, but it was known:

_If one was to fight in a war, the other would follow. _

* * *

**NOTE: Title is "Legacy". **

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

_sardalya - sardines  
_

_krili_ç_ \- swordfish_

__muezzin_ \- the person appointed at a mosque to lead, and recite, the call of prayer for every event of prayer and worship in the mosque.  
_

__qayïk_ \- a small boat  
_

_efendim - master (can also be my Lord)  
_

_abla - big sister; a sign of respect_

_kafe - cafe_

_hanim - miss; a title  
_

__tamam_ \- alright  
_

_uzun ejek - children's game: leap frog  
_

__Inşallah - "God willing"; romanized as "Insha'Allah" or "Inshallah"  
__

___Gerçekten_ \- indeed  
__


	9. IX - Amun-Ra

**IX –** **Amun-Ra  
**_June, 1510_

* * *

With a knife in one hand, Krista began grabbing tufts of hair in the other.

Without her ponytail, the brunette's straight locks fell onto her shoulders, the longest point just at the top of her shoulder blades. Each fibre had the texture of grain, unwashed and coarse. There were even balls of dirt that clung to them, emphasizing the grimy scent within Ymir's hair. Anyone else would have cringed and refused the request, but Krista could care less about the state of it. If she spotted lice skittering about, she would have washed her hair for her without a single complaint.

###

An intrusive thought:

_Krista running her hands through Ymir's hair  
As the brunette pulled her in for a kiss  
Her fingers against it, clawing at it._

###

Krista blushed so hard that she dropped the knife. It fell upon the floor with a _thunk_.

Ymir flinched in her seat and turned around to look at Krista. "Are you okay?"

Biting the inside of her lower lip, Krista picked the knife up and placed a hand on Ymir's shoulder. "Yes, yes."

"You seem nervous."

"N-no!" Krista stuttered. "It's just – are you sure about this?"

"It is only a little trim I want," answered Ymir. The vibrations of her voice went through her head. "Just to make me look less feminine."

"But...your hair is so beautiful."

"Krista, if I had a piece of gold every time you made a bad joke, I would be rich by now."

"_I _have the knife, Ymir." Krista gave a snobbish _hmph_.

"What? Are you going to slit my throat with it?"

"Worse. I'm going to make you bald!"

Ymir's arms shot behind her and reached for Krista's waist. Too slow to escape, Krista found herself nearly falling over from the tickling fit Ymir initiated. Her laugh turned shrill as she did her best to keep herself standing.

"Are you going to make me bald _now, _Krista?" The blonde could not see it, but Ymir was grinning mischievously.

"I'll cut _all _of it off!" giggled Krista. "Now, stop, before I drop this knife on your head."

Ymir retracted her hands and placed them upon her lap. "_Yes_, Krista hanim."

"Speaking of which," said Krista as she began cutting small bits of hair, "why do your apprentices call me that? I'm only fifteen."

"Yes, but they see you as a woman."

_Snip. _"What do _you _see me as?"

"I see you as...Krista."

"And Krista is...?"

"Krista is my best friend." Ymir sighed, not out of irritation, but out of pensive thought. "She is kind, lovable, and I do not know why she is with a rat like me."

_Snip. Snip. _Clumps of hair coasted to the ground.

Krista was at a loss for words. She expected something else – a sarcastic answer, another joke, a biting comment, a dismissive laugh – anything, _anything _except what Ymir said. The words in it were simple, nothing more, but they were so _real. _Jewellery, she did not covet. If a man offered her to be the queen of the world, she would refuse. But the words – she wanted to place them in a jar and save them for later, so she could listen to them _again _and _again_. She stayed hushed as she continued cutting her hair. When she was done, she placed the knife on the table and rummaged around to find a broom.

Ymir took a shard of a mirror from her pocket. She had found it on the street the other day. It was only the size of her palm, but it would do. Examining herself, she called out to Krista. "You did a good job."

Krista opened the door of Ymir's house and swept it all out with a pair of straw wires tied together. "You like it?"

"Of course I do." The brunette stood and walked over to Krista. "If you saw me on the street, would you think I was a man?"

After the last strand exited, the door was closed, and the broom was set against the wall. Krista dusted her hands. "I suppose. I mean, when you act as my escort, people are fooled, aren't they?"

"Yes." Ymir seemed distracted. Krista could see it in the way that she moved her mouth, the way she positioned her body.

"Do you have something to tell me, or are you just going to wiggle there?"

"I...I wasn't planning to tell you, but..." She scratched her head. "I'm going to enlist for the _şehir __bekçi_."

"You're going to _what_?" Krista's mouth fell. "How long have you been thinking of doing this!?"

"I thought of it when I turned seventeen last February." Ymir's tone was final. Clearly, there was no changing her mind.

The main impact of it was that Ymir would be risking her life, not just in combat, but also in matters of her assigned sex. The second, lesser impact of it was the fact that the girl did not even _want _to tell Krista.

From utter surprise and disappointment, Krista sat herself down on one of the chairs by the table. "Ymir...it's dangerous."

"It's _just _the city guard, Krista."

"_Just _the city guard? Constantinople is _not _the safest city! There are brawls, and thugs, and murderers – you might get killed!" It was the first time that Krista _truly _shouted at Ymir. Other times, yes, but they were in jest. _This _was her anger, finally showing itself.

"Do you see _now, _why I did not want to tell you!?" Ymir yelled.

"_Why _do you want to do this, Ymir? _Why_?" Krista felt her voice turn syrupy, but did not want to give in to her tears.

"I don't have to explain myself to you!" Ymir turned her back to Krista. "You're acting like a _child_."

"_You're _acting like a child!" Krista stood up. For a few seconds, she waited for Ymir to look back at her. When the brunette did not, she gave a livid glare towards her general direction and stormed off.

###

As Krista made her way down to the docks by the Golden Horn, she convinced herself over and over that she never wanted to see Ymir again, that she did not want the girl to chase after her. _This _had been their first argument, the first since they met a year and some months ago. It was surprising that it had taken _this _long, she realized, because their personalities mixed like mud and water. Ymir was brash and difficult, Krista was calculating and quiet. _Almost like day and night_, she thought.

The mid-morning sun was shaking its rays at her, squeezing its pollen upon the blue of the bay. She sat at the edge of the docks, nearby where the _Yüz D__ördüncü _spent their time working. A few familiar voices hollered at her, either greeting her or asking her to come over and talk, but Krista would not budge. Her ears were bursting at the seams, the words 'best friend' and 'city guard' circling around in her drums like vultures waiting to feast. With one hand she held her chin, and with the other she began drawing circles upon the wood. A few minutes later, she sensed a presence nearby. Its shadow shaded her from the sun as it emerged, but she did not need to turn to see who it was.

"What are you doing here?" Krista asked sullenly.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm sitting." Ymir had one leg to her chest.

"I am _not _in the mood."

"Yes, I can see that."

"Ymir..."

"Look, Krista – I'm...I'm sorry, alright?"

Krista looked up at her. Ymir's eyebrows were slanted and uneven, resting upon her disquiet eyes. She kept silent.

"I...the reason... I thought it was best if..." The brunette moved her hands around. "Do you remember when I told you about the time I met Connie, the one taking care of my family's horses?"

Krista nodded, recollecting the very afternoon late last year when Ymir excitedly told her about the truth behind the stables.

"It made me think about my own parents." Ymir gulped. "My mother was not the healthiest woman. Life had never been easy for her, but my father, he...he was able to take care of her by being a soldier."

It was _very _unlike Ymir to talk of her parents. Krista knew of their passing, yes, but beyond that, nothing much more. It was easy to see why it was not a preferred topic. On top of their tragedy, Ymir turned into a mess just at the mention of them. Her eyes wobbled in their sockets, her irises shrinking down to ten times their original size. Krista did not even know at what point she took Ymir's hand, but there it was, sweltering and callous against her pale skin.

"He would keep her fed with the money he earned from fighting and he would keep the bad people away with his combat experience."

The way Ymir used the childlike term 'bad people' made Krista envision her younger self, a lithe and scrawny, freckled girl that had been forced out on the streets because she had no one else. Because she had no one left.

"The Ox, Krista, he was a close call." Ymir closed her eyes. "Not because I thought I was going to die, but because I thought I would not be strong enough to protect you from him."

"No..." Krista squeezed Ymir's arm. "Ymir, no..."

"It will be safe. I know the streets of this city like the back of my hand."

"I don't think I will ever understand you."

"Why?"

"You pretend to care about yourself, but really..."

Ymir broke out into a grin. "Don't take it the other way. If I don't protect you, then who will read Metamorphoses to me?"

"I should have known." The corners of Krista's mouth tugged upwards. She played along. "You've been using me from the start."

The taller girl placed her arms around Krista's waist. "So, are you not mad at me anymore?"

Krista twisted in her grip and flicked her on the forehead. "I might just give you that balding look when you go to sleep tonight."

Ymir chuckled. "Come on, I was planning to read more of Metamorphoses today. I left it at the house."

###

If Ovid had been alive today, he would have been pleased to see two people bonding over his book. Then, he would have repeated one of his famous lines from _Ars Amatoria_:

_Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name_.

How could he have known?

* * *

The following week, Krista agreed to accompany Ymir to the recruiting offices in the Topkapı district. Earlier, before they left Ymir's house, Krista made sure she bound her breasts accordingly. Luckily, Ymir's chest was not large enough for it to be hard to hide. She slicked Ymir's hair back with a mixture of water and saliva and took away her hair tie. Her hair was still long enough to have a very tiny ponytail sticking out, but it was short enough that she did not need one. As they walked side by side, she rehearsed lines with Ymir, making sure that her voice was deep and masculine enough. It was the least of their concerns, her appearance. The real worry lay in her background. Normally, recruiters would need some documents here and there. Neither would admit it, but they were relying on good fortune.

The man sitting behind the enlistment table seemed like he had been on this earth for a hundred years. Long lines rested above his thin eyebrows. Medallion eyes peered up at them as they approached.

"_Selamun _ _aleyküm_," he greeted. "Is there something I can do for you, beyefendi?"

"I am here to sign up for the city guard," answered Ymir.

"Of course. Papers?"

"Er – respectfully,_ vakilharç_, I am a mere fisherman, I was orphaned when I was a child. I do not have any papers."

"Very well." The commissar toyed with his moustache. "Since, at this point, our Empire is at a precipice of change, recruitment will not be harsh."

"What do you mean?"

"Şehzade Ahmet and Şehzade Selim are engaged in a war between each other – the fight for the throne. Our beloved Sultan is beside himself with worry."

Krista swallowed. She and Ymir had been so busy with their own work that they did not bother with the current events of Constantinople. This civil war was the last thing that they needed.

"Many men are fighting for one or the other," he continued. "We do not need soldiers. To add to this conflict would be disastrous. What we need are able recruits to defend the city."

"I am fit, I have never had a history of bad disease," said Ymir. "If you go down to the docks and talk to a man named Shadis bey, he will vouch for me."

"_Shadis bey_?" The man's eyes widened. "You...you are not the one they call Ymir, are you?"

"I am."

"I have heard many good things about you."

"About...the Ox?" Ymir cringed. Beside her, Krista inhaled severely.

"Do not look so worried, Ymir bey. I may be drinking with the nobles here, but I do not count myself as one of them."

Krista thanked Allah. That was _too _close.

Ymir wiped the sweat that was gathering on her forehead. "So...you will accept my application?"

He nodded, and produced a piece of parchment, along with a well of ink and a feather. "Your given name, I know, but your surname?"

"I do not have one, beyefendi. My father was Egyptian. He had different customs; he died without telling me how the rest of my name would work."

As Krista listened quietly, she began thinking of her _own _name, her given one, not the charade she was keeping up with. For half a second she thought of telling Ymir about it, but her fears regarding it rose, and she decided not to. Someday, perhaps, but not today.

"It is his first name that will be your middle name," informed the commissar, "and his second name that will be your surname."

Ymir cleared her throat. "_Set Amun-Ra._"

It came out of her mouth breathless and panting, as if it had been waiting to be spoken for a long time. Krista wondered how long Ymir had been holding his name in, keeping it for herself so that the pain of it would not be seen by the rest of the world.

The commissar wrote it down upon the paper in cursive. He asked for her birthday too – which she gave and he documented. There were more words, official ones which spoke of the right to recruit, that it was a duty bound to Ymir, that she would be paid a good sum of money every week for her service. When he was done, he rolled it up and sealed it with the wax _tughra _of Sultan Bayezid.

They shook hands.

"Thank you, _vakilharç_."

"_Mühim değil_. And please, call me Pixis."

"Pixis bey." Ymir nodded. "When will I report?"

"Your training starts in two weeks, _oğul_. Until then, you may work and be with your wife."

Krista turned red under her veil. She had not spoken once in the conversation, so she did not have a chance to explain to him that Ymir was just her friend, or her relative. She could not blame him for assuming, though. Ymir snaked a hand around her waist and pulled her close.

"Yes," smiled Ymir. "The love of my life, she is. _Elveda_, Pixis bey."

"Have a good day, now."

###

When they turned a corner that covered them from the view of the recruiting offices, Ymir pulled her hand away from the blonde's waist and rubbed the back of her neck.

"That went better than what I expected."

"_He thought I was your wife_!" Krista whispered harshly. "And you encouraged it!"

"It looked believable." Ymir shrugged. "Besides, don't you like my surname coupled with your name?"

Krista stuck her tongue out, the tip of it brushing against her veil. "Not in a million years." Ymir smiled at that comment. "But," continued the girl, "I was happy that I learned of your name."

"_Ymir Set Amun-Ra_." The brunette formed an imaginary sign in the air. "_The Bulwark of Constantinople, saviour of the city, the best friend of Krista Lenz._"

"Do _not _overdo it," giggled Krista.

She respected Ymir's wish to be a soldier, to be a fighter, but she could not help but think about the malevolent churning in her stomach. What would she do if something happened to Ymir? What would happen if she died? Would things be better if she did not enlist?

###

If only fate could answer her, it would say that:

_Ymir's duty as a city guard will later lead her to Krista  
When she is screaming and crying and begging  
In the streets, her kaftan torn and her dignity  
Taken from underneath her. _

* * *

**NOTE: Yes, the title is not Turkish. In Egyptian Mythology, Amun-Ra was the fusion of the deity Amun and the Sun God, Ra. Ymir's middle name is Set, who was the God of the Desert, Storms and etc.  
**

**NOTE 2: Ymir deserves a surname in any universe, to be honest. Also, Egyptian surnames _really _did work that way, back in the day.**

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

_hanim - miss  
_

_şehir bekçi - rough trans: "city guard"  
_

_Ars Amatoria - latin; "The Art of Love" by Ovid, written 2AD_

_beyefendi - mister, sir (when you do not know his name)_

_bey - mister, sir ( when you know his name)_

_vakilharç - commissary, commissar  
_

_Şehzade - prince  
_

_tughra - calligraphic monogram, seal or signature of an Ottoman sultan that was affixed to all official documents and correspondence._

_Mühim değil - "it is nothing"  
_

_oğul - son, sonny, cadet  
_

_Elveda - farewell, goodbye  
_


	10. X - Bekçi

**X – Bekçi  
**_July-December, 1510_

* * *

Ymir was not going to lie to herself.

It was gruelling. The training she experienced pushed her to her very core; it extended her limits and made her see the side of herself that she did not know was there.

For the first few months, the supervisors made her and fifty other cadets do basic physical exercise every day, whilst juggling studies of the Qur'an. They were not allowed to go back to their homes at this early point in training, which proved to be a hard task for Ymir because she missed fishing, she missed her friends, her apprentices, and most importantly, she missed Krista.

Their study on the Qur'an was not too extensive, but they covered the _very _fundamental pillars of Islam. Though they were encouraged to be faithful, it was not obligatory to be pious.

Ymir enjoyed learning about the teachings of the Prophet Muhammad – a majority of them were interesting and extremely wise. There were some, however, that she did not agree with, but that was for her to keep to herself. These studies would occur inside the barracks at night, after sunset and just before dinner. She and her fellow recruits would take turns reading from the Holy Book, and whenever one would find it hard to recite a word, another would help. Afterwards, they would talk about the scripture and relate it to happenings in daily life. Sometimes she would sigh and look out the window, thinking about Krista, about what she was doing, wishing that she was there listening to the scriptures with her. Her father and her mother, she remembered, were devout and practiced the _salat_ five times a day.

###

When she was seven:

_Set faced the right, "__Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah_."  
_Then he faced the left. "Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah."  
When he was done, Ymir walked up to him. "What is that thing that you and Mama do?"  
He smiled, rolled up his rug. "They are prayers."  
"Why don't I do them too?"  
Set picked his daughter up. "Because, my darling, you are too young. Someday, you will decide for yourself."  
"Decide what?"  
"Whether Allah is your God, or if he is not."  
"Won't he feel sad if he wasn't my God?"  
A small laugh. "Allah will love you all the same." _

###

Once, on a Wednesday in late August, she realized that the sky was darkening faster than usual. Winter was fast approaching this year. Though they boarded up the doors with sheets to stop the draught from entering in, a slight wind still managed to ooze through. Ymir was lying on her bunk, an elbow propped up to support her head. The one reading today was Bertolt, an exceedingly tall man with a tendency to sweat. Under the faint guttering of their oil lamp, his face looked ghastlier.

"_And if all the trees in the earth were pens, and the sea, which was ink, with seven more seas to help it, the words of Allah could not be exhausted_," he said. "_Lo! Allah is mighty, wise._ Chapter thirty-one, verse twenty-seven."

"Good reading, Bertolt." Marco, the boy with black hair, beamed. Sometimes he annoyed Ymir – he seemed too idealistic for her tastes.

Bertolt placed the Qur'an on their common table. "Thank you."

Eren, the irritating and cocksure boy who sat in one corner, groaned. "How long do we have to do this for?"

"That was the last scripture for today." Marco blinked.

"No, I mean – when are we going to stop the study sessions and _really _go into the harder combat exercises?"

"You're all talk, you _mağlup_." It was Jean, the _other _irritating and cocksure boy. "You couldn't punch your way out of a wet piece of parchment."

Ymir rolled her eyes so far back that she thought she could see the inside of her brain. The fights of these two would always stem from something petty and stupid, and would occur almost all the time. It was entertaining the first three occasions, but their trivial rambling eventually became tiresome and agitating. She was about to sink into another one of her daily Krista daydreams, when –

"Hey, you."

Ymir raised an eyebrow in question to the owner of the voice.

"You never talk," said Eren. "Why not give us an input on this?"

"What for?"

"Do you think we should just get into fighting, or what?"

"You want to know what_ I_ think?" Ymir sat up. "_I_ think that you are an idiot."

"If he agrees with me on _that _matter," Jean said, "then he is definitely my friend."

Eren's ears were scarlet with anger. "I'll show you, _Amun-Ra_."

"I am _so_ scared, _Yeager_." Ymir yawned.

"Say, Ymir, we've all been wondering about you." Jean scratched his chin. "Heard you beat up a guy."

"Kirstein, the whole city has heard that story."

"Yeah, well – is that why you enlisted? You don't seem the type who plays well with others."

"No." Ymir shook her head. "I'm not."

"So...the reason?"

She got off her bed, moseyed to the window and crossed her arms. "No reason."

_No reason except for a girl, _she thought. _A girl who has my heart._

* * *

Those few months came and went quicker than Ymir imagined, and though the push-ups, the bridges and the laps had exhausted her, she knew that they were only preparation for the incoming throes of intense physical training. As much as she dreaded the strained muscles and the sore backs, the best thing about moving into the second phase of training was that they did not need to stay in the barracks for a whole week anymore.

For five days each week, they had to live in a building that stood rigid and disciplined beside the garrison headquarters of western Topkapı. The difference was now that after downtime on Friday afternoon, they would take their clothes with them and go back to their homes for Saturday and Sunday.

###

After an unforgiving session of close-quarters combat in early October, the recruits lay on their beds, wincing in pain and refusing to move an inch. Purple bruises lined their bare arms, like fresh flowers on a garden of skin. Their lips were split and bloodied, their noses curved and scratched. It was no secret that a few bones had broken, no secret that a few muscles were torn, no secret that out of everyone who suffered these consequences, it was only Ymir who did not. The only things she sported were a few scrapes on her face, maybe a bruise on her side, but otherwise, she was not relentlessly aching like the rest of them.

"_Hngh_." Jean closed his eyes. "Ymir...where did you learn those moves?"

Ymir smirked as she packed her clothes in a rucksack. Today would be the first day in their training that they would spend their weekend with loved ones. The others would delay themselves until they _really _had to go, but she could not wait a second longer.

"Fucking _balıkçı_," muttered Eren. "What is the matter with you, huh?"

"Maybe if you focused on fighting and _not _boasting," said Ymir, "you could have had a chance."

"_Siktir_, you Egyptian."

"Clean your mouth before you kiss your mother later." Jean laughed. "Let's be honest, Ymir is the best out of all of us. Agreed?"

Eren turned away from all of them, huffing in defeat and humiliation. Bert, Marco and their other comrades murmured in agreement. It was weird for Ymir to think about how these men had grown to respect her prowess in battle. Liking her, however, was a completely different aspect altogether. She was unlikable to most people – she would never talk unless it was to say a sarcastic remark or to insult someone – and the way she did things _her _own way, it pissed the supervisors off.

"Alright, I'm off." Ymir slung the bag on her back. "Try not to break anymore bones."

"Why are you in such a hurry?" asked Jean.

"Unlike the rest of you _serseri_, I've got a girl waiting for me."

As Ymir left the barracks, a cohort of teasing hoots and yapping encouragements followed her. She smiled, and she did not stop smiling for the rest of the way.

###

The sky threw a basket of apricots onto Constantinople – the faintest glows of orange and yellow blending unto each other. The small shrubs that were planted in patches in and around the city were beginning to shed their leaves, leaving thin branches naked and vulnerable to the climate. When she reached the mouth of the Golden Horn, she could not help but breathe in deeply. The salty air of the bay had transformed into a brisk step. As her eyes found the docks and the trading post, her smile grew into a huge grin. The _Yüz D__ördüncüi _was huddled in together, playing a card game. Sasha and Mikasa were chatting away, mostly Sasha, but she could tell that Mikasa was enjoying listening. And there – there she was.

Krista.

She was standing away from them, on her lonesome, facing the ocean.

Her mind had barely registered what her legs wanted to do. They just moved and moved and moved until she was where she wanted to be. Ymir dropped her bag to the ground and placed her hands around Krista's hips. The tiny blonde yelped in surprise, swivelling around to face Ymir. Her hands found the sides of the brunette's face, her fingers caressing her cheeks.

Ymir flushed. "Missed me, huh?"

"Missed you?" Krista puffed, but she was hiding the traces of a grin. "What made you think _that_?"

She wrapped her arms around Ymir, but as she was about to rest her head on the girl's abdomen, she stopped and pulled back. Self-conscious and anxious, Ymir creased her brows.

"Okay, I'll admit," she said, stepping back. "I have not showered in a few days."

"No, no, it's not that." Krista had the most puzzled expression on her face. If Ymir was not so worried about her scent, she would have thought it cute.

"Then...what is it?"

"It's just..." The blonde reluctantly poked at Ymir's stomach. "_This_."

"This?"

"It has always been flat, but now...it's...rock solid."

There were not enough shades of red to describe Ymir's sheepishness. "I've been training really hard."

"I see." Krista shyly brushed a lock of her hair away. "I find that hard to believe."

"Why?" challenged Ymir. It took every inch of her not to stutter. "Did you want proof?" She proceeded to lift the hem of her shirt.

"No!" Krista looked away. Her voice dripped with embarrassment. "Another time, perhaps. Or...no, not at all. Never. Please."

"Hey! No need to hog her, Krista!" It was Sasha. Mikasa trailed behind her, along with the rest of the _Yüz D__ördüncü_.

Before Ymir could protest, Sasha engulfed her in a crushing embrace. The recruits noisily greeted Ymir as they merged themselves into a group hug. Krista and Mikasa stood by, sighing happily as they watched their fishermen reunite.

When she felt her ribs being decimated by their limbs, Ymir tread backwards. "Alright, alright, you're killing me here."

"We're sorry, Ymir abla," said Franz. "It has been tough without you here."

Mina nodded. "Shadis efendim gets onto us all the time."

"And Sasha abla is not as effective as you are!" Hanna said. "Sometimes she just eats and makes us do all the work!"

Sasha frowned. "I have to rein you kids in! That's not the way you talk about your superior!"

"Sasha," Mikasa said, "sometimes I have to come in here just to supervise them because you are off buying kebabs."

"Being in charge is hard work." Sasha crossed her arms.

"Mikasa hanim_ can_ be scary, though..." Tomas muttered under his breath.

"_Don't _expect me to come back anytime soon," chuckled Ymir. "I still have some months to go. Plus, being a guard will be my profession. If I fish, it will only be on the weekends or whenever I am free."

They all groaned in despair.

"Now, now," said Sasha, "at least all of you have each other. It is Krista who we really worry about here."

Mina nodded. "Krista hanim has been visiting the docks every day, waiting for your return, Ymir abla."

"Krista..." Ymir was smug. "You _really _missed me."

The blonde pouted. "But not as much as you think."

"Don't worry my _çiçek_. All my free time will be with you."

Sasha waved a finger. "Uh-uh. Not tonight. Tonight, we are going to play a big game of _blöf_."

Ymir sighed in exasperation.

"Aw, come on, Ymir," said Krista. "It will be fun."

"Alright, alright. I'm dealing!"

###

It was Franz who had the 15th Century pack of Mamluk playing cards. When he handed it to Ymir to shuffle, she could only smile and think about her roots. However, as disappointing as it was, she was a _horrible _dealer. The cards went _everywhere _and at some point one almost fell into the bay. She eventually came to terms with this and handed the pack to Krista, who turned out to be amazing with handling cards. As the evening wore on and the game progressed, it became clear to everyone as to who the _real _player of the game was. Krista. Surprisingly, she had the best poker face, made the best bluffs, and by chance, had the best hands. When she conquered in the end, everyone sat in stunned silence, wondering as to how this sweet girl had the skill and luck to win at cards. Ymir lost her bluster, but she was proud of how Krista dominated.

Everyone either wanted a replay, or tried to pester the blonde to tell them how she cheated, but all Ymir could do was put an arm around her and say,

"_That's my Krista_."

* * *

In mid-December, Ymir graduated the training program with high honours.

Prior to the ceremony, they were all outfitted with the standard uniform of a city guard – a bronze gorget, a hand-embroidered _mintan _with the colours of Persian copper and dry moss, a pair of thick _potur _made from lamb's wool_, _leather vambraces and oxhide boots.

Bertolt had been uneasily fidgeting with his clothes from the moment he put them on, probably because the outfitters found it hard to tailor a uniform for someone his size. Eren was shooting daggers in Ymir's general direction, his eyes a little greener as he seethed with envy. Jean and Marco were jealous of her, no question, but as they stood beside her, they were _pleased _that they had such a talented comrade. Against the stark contrast of the white snow at their feet, these graduates looked like black ants in rows of straight lines. At the very front and smack right in the middle was Ymir, her hair away from her forehead, her freckled face even more pronounced under the winter noon.

The supervisors started from the very back row, giving each soldier his helmet and his sword. Their faces were stoic as their mouths said, "_Bu benim onur_," after receiving their titles and their items. Ymir remembered her inheritance under the Syrian juniper tree and wondered if she should dig them up. They would serve her well. Her fingers itched to feel the metal her father once wore, but a beating instinct told her that it was _not _the right time.

The supervisors were Commissar Pixis, and another superior who went by the name of Woerman. First they cleared the outer ends of the front row, until they converged and reached Ymir. She raised her chin, staring at them in the eye as honestly as she could. Part of her was afraid that they would see right through her, that they would see her for the woman she was. But when Pixis smiled and presented her with her helmet, it was lucid that he only saw her as a skilled warrior.

It was a turban _miğfer_ inlaid with silver. It covered the top of the head, and formed a cone at the very peak. Open-faced, it had curving eyeholes and a narrow strip for the noseguard. Around its base was an inscription of the Qur'an written in Arabic, but she could not decipher it. Ymir took it and placed it upon her head.

Woerman held the blade in his palms and nodded. It was a _kilij _made from Damascus steel, sheathed in a rawhide scabbard. The hilt felt alien to Ymir when she clasped it, but a patriotic emotion washed over her as she took it and tucked it into her _kuşak_.

"_Bu benim onur_," she said, bowing.

To her astonishment, Pixis planted a gloved hand on her shoulder, causing her to stand upright.

"The _şehir bekçi _has not seen an outstanding recruit in many years," he said, the wrinkles by his eyes smiling at Ymir. "It is _my_ honour."

"Because of your exemplary results as a cadet," said Woerman, "we bestow the title _'__Mülâzım-ı Sani' _upon you."

Ymir's eyes almost fled from their sockets. Everyone was to be either named a corporal or a private today, but –

"You will lead ten men." Pixis bowed. "They are yours to command, Second Lieutenant."

The fellow graduates who were beside her kowtowed, inclining their heads, their fists on their hearts. Solemnly, she returned the gesture, but in her heart was a pleasant tugging that she could not fully describe. In her mind, the corpses of her parents appeared, but they were instantly replaced by the smiling face of Krista. She realized that after a long time of mourning, she was starting to rebuild from a fire that had started a long time ago.

###

_To Ymir,_

_Who did not know that fires were from lightning strikes,  
Who did not know that lightning strikes were always around the corner,  
Dressed in lustful violence, a hungry gaze, and yellow teeth._

* * *

**NOTE: Title means: "Guard".  
**

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

_salat - or salah; the practice of ritualistic prayer in Islam.  
_

_Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah - means: "Peace and blessings of Allah be unto you"; is recited once while facing the right and then facing the left; it is said during the Taslim, the concluding portion of salat.  
_

_mağlup - loser  
_

_balıkçı_, - _fisherman_

_siktir - screw you, fuck you_

_serseri - lowlife, lowlifes, bums_

_Yüz Dördüncüi- One Hundred Fourth_

_blöf - Turkish version of "Bluff" or "Bullshit".  
_

_mintan - jacket, short coat_

_potur - breeches_

_Bu benim onur - "It is my honour"_

_miğfer - helmet _

_kilij - a type of one-handed, single edged and moderately curved saber  
_

_kuşak - belt  
_

_Mülâzım-ı Sani - rank; 'Second Lieutenant'  
_


	11. XI - Kadın

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains non-explicit/non-graphic descriptions and implications of attempted sexual assault. Viewer discretion is advised. **

* * *

**XI – Kadın  
**_February-March, 1511_

* * *

There are two ways to break news: one, you tell the truth. Two, you put it in an icing of something pretty.

The icing, however, is useless when you can see the rot through it.

You are to witness four truths.

* * *

_The Offer_

* * *

It was, by far, the coldest day of winter. The Grand Bazaar was sleeping for once, the stalls inside it covered in sheets. Icicles hung from the rafters and every now and then, one would drop, spilling onto the ground. They were missiles that exploded upon Constantinople. Even the fisheries refused to sail out into the Marmara today, but they reassured their customers that they would be back in business soon enough. Only the _Yüz D__ördüncü _was on the docks, their bodies shivering against the biting breeze that spanned the Bosphorus. Shockingly, it was not Shadis who forced them to work, nor was it Sasha. The apprentices had taken it upon themselves to keep the company open, wanting to create a better reputation for their trade.

"I am sure that she will love it, Krista." Mikasa toyed with the tightness of her scarf. "She will love it even more, knowing you came there to surprise her."

Krista looked down at the casing she held in her hands. It was made out of the finest leather she could get her hands on. Inside it was a _katar _imported from India, its handle in the shape of an 'H'. When she was choosing the right blade to buy, she was told that the handle was for the wearer's knuckles, in order to have a better grip for its use.

"Do you really think so, Mikasa?" The blonde could not hide her doubts. "Maybe I should have bought something else – or chosen another type-"

"You scoured through the whole city for something like this, and it caused you a _fortune_. Ymir will love it."

After Sasha called an order to the apprentices, she sauntered over to the two of them. "You _know_ Ymir, Krista. She likes to stab things."

Though her nerves could not be settled properly, it helped to know that Sasha and Mikasa were supporting her. "I just hope it will be enough – she is eighteen today, after all."

"She doesn't know that you are coming to get her after her patrols," said Mikasa, "so use it to your advantage."

"You're right." Krista smiled. "Okay, I'll go find her at her posting and bring her back here."

"Wait – Krista, did you want one of us to go with you?" Sasha asked.

She shook her head. "I won't take long."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Just make sure you have everything ready for when we arrive."

"_Tamam_. We will see you in a bit."

###

**_{Truth #1}_**

_The refusal of this offer will become the source of blame.  
A lot of: should've, would've, could'ves.  
They failed her. _

* * *

_The Corner_

* * *

Would you believe it if you were told that there was _not _a single soul roaming the streets? Not a passerby, not even a brave merchant. Not a guard in sight. Not in this area. They must have been stationed elsewhere, or have been given another assignment. The houses caved into themselves, their windows riddled with goosebumps and hoarfrost. Perhaps they knew, and perhaps they wanted to hide.

Krista was headed east, towards the Forum of Arcadius in one of the poorer districts. Yesterday, Ymir had dropped by her house to tell her where her new posting was. It was their routine now – whenever the rotation changed, Ymir would tell her so that she knew, so that she did not have to worry. Sometimes Krista would take a stroll around the area where Ymir was just to catch a glimpse of her. Their eyes would meet in a crowd, and Ymir would tip her helmet and wink. Krista would blush. She looked dashing in her uniform. They would never get the chance to have a chat, however, since Ymir would always be alert on the job. Clutching the dagger, Krista could not help but smile to herself as she thought about the girl. In her head, the whole scene played itself – Ymir would accept it, hug her and then together they would get back to the docks, where a surprise party awaited. It would be_ perfect_.

Perfect.

A word that did not deserve her. A word that did not keep its promises.

Its broken promise came in the form of a man, who she accidentally bumped into whilst lost in her thoughts.

Krista almost dropped the dagger. "My apologies, beyefendi. I was not watching myself."

"Nay. It was me."

Relieved, Krista swerved over to his right. "Good day."

Before she could leave, she felt a hand close in on her wrist. "Wait."

Her heart tossed at the unwanted contact, but she kept herself still. "Was there something you needed?"

"Yes."

He shoved her towards a corner.

###

**_{Truth # 2}_**

_The world cannot be forgiven for housing such beasts.  
It cannot be forgiven for hurting many, many girls. _

* * *

_The Body_

* * *

When Krista regained the feeling in her legs, she propped herself up against the wall.

The lavender _kaftan _she wore hung on her body like a vandalised temple. The embroidery had been split in half, lines that were no longer significant, threads that were no longer there. Upon the soft cotton were splotches of blood, absorbed like ink. Her neck was ravaged by bullets of the struggle. Her chest was heaving in the open, the rise and fall of it her only focus as she thought about being alive.

Krista was made out of sand, and she was trying to pick herself up, grain by grain.

Her sedated eyes wandered towards her hands, and then onto the ground.

_How could this have happened?_

A pond had formed around the man. Numbly, Krista thought, _it looks like a bunch of cherries that have been stepped on_.

She did not have to kneel and touch him. He was cold, colder than the day was. He lay spreadeagled upon the cobblestones, his pants halfway down his legs.

The _katar _hugged Krista's knuckles. Its tip dripped.

###

A collection of flashing images:

_Hands, rough, ugly, moving, ugly.  
"What a pretty woman you are."  
Woman, woman, woman, woman._

_The dagger had dropped, dropped, dropped.  
Breath, smells, stinks, kills.  
Teeth, so yellow yellow yellow yellow. _

_Your clothes are a hindrance.  
Burden, mine, mine, mine, mine.  
Untying. Took it out. Ready?_

_No. No no no no no no. No.  
Twisted, kneed. He buckled.  
The dagger the dagger the dagger._

_Into flesh, into flesh, into flesh.  
Must survive, survive, live.  
You will not have me._

###

Though paralysed, she made herself walk.

Though tired, she made herself run.

Though mute, she made herself scream.

Krista hurled herself into the street – like a cannonball out of nowhere, a force in physics that would not stop until forced to stop. Her throat was on its grazed knees, pleading and praying to a God that did not seem like he was there. Every now and then she stumbled against the door of a house, banging on it as she did, hoping that someone, _anyone _would come outside and help her. Snot ran down her nose, covering her lips. Some of it slipped inside her mouth as she sobbed, and its saltiness mixed with the thickness of her tongue. Her heart, she felt, could not keep up with her. It pumped and pumped like an overworked machine ready to self-destruct from its heat. It wanted nothing more than to cease and wither. Krista would not let it give up. She continued her march.

"_Yardım!_" Her fingers were bent against the dagger. "_Yardım!_"

No one answered. A dog barked.

"_Yardıma ihtiyacım var! Bana yardım edin lütfen!_"

Another dog joined in.

A name posted itself in her mind. A name she clung to.

"_Ymir! Ben buradayım!_" With a free hand, she covered the parts of her chest that were naked. "_Ben buradayım!_"

The street before her seemed endless, as if the very same stones she had stepped on a minute ago, she was stepping on again. And the houses – they had the same colours, the same shapes – voiceless and uncaring.

Gradually, her vision became distorted by her tears, and she had no strength to wipe them away.

The girl in the torn _kaftan _fell to her knees.

Abruptly, the barking of the dogs was drowned out by numerous voices. She counted them. _One, two, three, four, five_. Four, she did not know. One, she _did_.

Blurry images of running figures appeared. At first she thought she was imagining them, but when she rubbed her eyes, she _saw_.

Five guards, in their full uniform, had their swords raised as they ran towards her. Their leader was faster than they were, legs swinging in full speed. Krista's heart jump-started itself. Underneath the helmet, she could see the freckled face, the swampy eyes, the olive skin.

"Ymir! Ymir!" Krista stretched her arm out. "It's me!"

"Krista!" The guard's voice was saccharine to the blonde's ears. It was relief and safety in its physical form.

Ymir skidded to a stop in front of her, tucking her sword away. As wintry as it was, there were countless beads of sweat which fell from her forehead down to her chin. They cascaded past her nose and her lips in hurried waterfalls. Krista had never seen her _so _worried, _so _panicked. In Ymir's eyes, she saw the whole world crumbling. The brunette removed her _mintan _and enveloped it around the girl, leaving her in a loose undershirt. Krista sighed breathlessly as it swirled around her in silk and cotton. Its warmth was inviting, and the scent that lingered on it gave her instant respite. Ymir held up a hand to stop the guards behind her. They sheathed their swords and waited.

"You came for me," whispered Krista, her hands feeling all of the nooks and crannies of Ymir's face.

Ymir embraced her. "My men heard screaming."

"I-I'm so _happy_." Tears dribbled down her chin and onto Ymir's back. "Y-you're _here_."

Her voice was hoarse, but it was tender. "My _çiçek_, I will always come for you."

"I was so scared, Ymir..."

"What happened to you?"

"There was a man...he...he tried to-" Krista pulled back from the hug to look at her. "Was it my fault?"

Ymir's thumbs stroked the tears away from her face. "No. Do not say that."

"I _killed_ him." Krista wailed and showed her the dagger. "I _had _to. I _had _to."

Disgusted with herself, she threw it on the ground. The glittering gold of the hilt had been caked from the blood of her fingers. The dark red on the blade had dried up.

The blonde leaned down and buried her face into Ymir's chest, her cries rocking her back and forth. Krista's teeth gnashed against the cotton of her shirt as she spoke.

"Don't let me go, Ymir. _Please_ don't let me go."

"_Gitmene izin vermeyeceğim_." Strong arms wrapped around her. "I will _never_ let you go, Krista."

###

**_{Truth # 3}_**

_When Ymir first saw Krista, she wanted to tear the world down and bury every single person that ever lived, so there would never be a chance for her to be hurt again. _

* * *

_The Trial (Three weeks later)_

* * *

Politics, politics. They can never be stopped, can they? Not when a girl was desecrated, not when she was almost clawed out from the inside. Justice had already been served, in the form of a large stab wound and a dead body – one less beast roaming on the earth for prey.

No one could see it, but as she stood quietly in the middle of the room, Krista was fuming with anger. She could not comprehend why a trial was needed. The officials had already seen the evidence – her bruises, her torn robes, her tears. She did absolutely _nothing _but cry for the past few weeks. Today, however, not a drop was available. Her eyes were pink and bulbous, but try as she might, she could no longer shed a tear.

The _kadı _was a bulky man wearing one of the most expensive robes she had ever seen. His silver beard reached his chest. "The accuser says that there was an attempt taken upon her virginity. With a dagger, she murdered the defendant out of 'self-defense', as she claims."

Claim? It was not a claim. It was a _fact_. Krista held her head up high. She would not give them the satisfaction, no she would not.

"What say you, the family of the defendant?"

They were on the left side of the judge – a woman wearing a _burqa _and a young boy, around the age of five.

"My husband is dead," she said, "because of this _orospu_. He was the one who worked, but now…who will feed me and my child?"

"As everyone in this room is well aware," the _kadı _said, "attempted fornication and adultery are acts of _zina_. Unlawful sexual relations. Should the accuser be found lying, she will be guilty. However, forced sexual acts are against Islamic law. If the defendant is found guilty instead, then the accuser will not be punished."

He waved to the guards who stood at the back. They moved forward, their helmets off.

"By my understanding, five of the city guard was present at the scene of the crime. Out of you, who is your superior?"

Ymir took a step forward. Having her in view made Krista calmer. "It is I, _Sayın_ Darius. I am Second Lieutenant Ymir Amun-Ra."

"Amun-Ra bey." The judge nodded. "You are well respected in your profession. Will you act as a witness for the accuser?"

"_Evet_."

"Wait." It was Krista's father. He was standing beside her, but had been quiet for awhile so she forgot he was there. She groaned inwardly at his voice. He was the _last _thing she needed.

"Do you have objections, Reis-" He cleared his throat. "Lenz bey?"

"This…this…Amun-Ra is a friend of my daughter. His opinion will be biased."

"Is this true, Second Lieutenant? Are you friends?"

Ymir grimaced, licked her lips. "Y-yes."

"Very well. Then your testimony will not be required. The four others will be the default witnesses instead."

Ymir sighed in defeat and retreated backwards. When she met Krista's eyes, she gave her a forlorn look. _It's okay_, the blonde mouthed.

"Begin – the tallest one first."

Earlier, before the trial, Ymir had introduced the guards to Krista. Though they seemed loyal, she could not help but worry as to what they would say. Will they side with the defendant, or will they act in her defense? This predicament could turn one way or the other in its extremities. Should Krista be found guilty of lying, her case of self-defense would be null and she would be executed, no questions asked.

"We arrived at the struggle," said Bertolt. His hands were shaking behind his back. "The man was forcing her against her will."

"It was clear, efendim." Jean nodded. "His intentions were to take her."

"There was no time for us to hold him back – he was very strong, and quick, and the only way that Krista hanim could defend her honour was to stab him with the dagger."

Marco's tone was very convincing, but one more had to state his claim. This last one, Ymir had told her one day, hated her guts because she bested him during their trainee days. He resented her for becoming his superior, especially since he could do nothing about it. Krista prepared herself – this trial was as good as lost.

"On my honour as a guard," began Eren, "I will dutifully tell the truth. She did not kill him out of evil intent, but out of desperation. All possible paths were closed, and so she did what was right. In the words of Sa'eed ibn Zayd, a companion to the Prophet Muhammad: '_The one who killed defending his life is a martyr_'. Allah does not condone self-defense, but allows it in events such as these."

The room was hushed for a good few minutes. Even the judge looked stumped.

"This is…true." Kadı Darius shifted in his seat. "The boy is right. No one can question the teachings of old. The defendant is found guilty, posthumously, of attempted sexual assault. This is not a crime of adultery of fornication. No further action will be done upon the accuser."

"No!" protested the wife. "What about qişāş!? What about justice!?"

As much as Krista wanted to lash out and speak out of fury, she kept herself still. This battle was to be won with her cooperation and calm.

"My father will pay you with _diya_," she said. "Accept it or have _no _justice at all."

The wife hesitated for a few seconds, but she clutched her son tightly and nodded. "_Ben kabul etmek_."

Out of the corner of her eye, Krista saw her father about to protest, but there was little he could do now.

The judge stood up. "The trial is over. _Ma'assalama_."

The scribes who had been recording the trial left, along with the other officials who oversaw the court proceedings. Once the judge exited, Krista's father took her by her shoulders.

"Are you _crazy_!?"

"Are you not happy that we won, _Baba_?" Krista grit her teeth.

"_Happy_? You promised them _blood money_!"

"You are rich. Figure it out."

He raised a hand to slap her. Like lightning, she grabbed it before it made contact with her face. She stared into his eyes, controlling him, demanding him.

"I have spent a lot of my time crying because I am a woman," she said. "You will not hit me. Not today."

Krista let go of his hand and turned on her heel.

She knew how lucky she was. She saw how the scales were tipped in her favour.

She was not going to waste this second chance.

###

**_{Truth # 4}_**

_This girl was going to become the heiress to a broken empire, and she would rebuild it with fists of iron. _

* * *

**NOTE: Title chapter means: "Woman".  
**

**NOTE 2: This was one of the most difficult chapters I have ever had to write. The subject matter is obviously not to be taken lightly, and to be in a situation like this is extremely traumatic and life-changing. There are aspects that I probably have not written correctly, and I respectfully say that I cannot speak for survivors of abuse and assault. **

**NOTE 3: In Sharia Law, rape or attempted rape can only be proven if the rapist confesses or if there are four male witnesses. Zina is unlawful sexual relations between unmarried Muslims. It includes extramarital sex, premarital sex, fornication, adultery and homosexuality - zina is considered only if it is consensual, which means that rape is _not _zina. However, the system of four eyewitnesses has led to many rape victims becoming punished for zina. I urge you to read more on this if you want more information, but only if it is not too triggering or disturbing. **

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

_katar - a type of push dagger that originated from India; it is characterised by its H-shaped horizontal hand grip and its wide body._

_tamam - okay, alright_

_yardım - help  
_

_Yardıma ihtiyacım var - "I need help!"  
_

_Bana yardım edin lütfen - "Please help me!"  
_

_Ben buradayım - "I'm here!"  
_

_Gitmene izin vermeyeceğim - "I won't let you go."  
_

_kadı - a judge ruling in accordance with Islamic (Sharia) law.  
_

_burqa - __a long, loose garment covering the whole body from head to feet, worn in public by women; covers the face and eyes._

_orospu - harlot, whore, bitch_

_zina - unlawful sexual relations between Muslims. _

_say__ın - dear/esteemable; used to address an official guest, an officer, priest, intellectual person etc.  
_

qişāş - retribution, revenge; in Sharia law it can be seen as "an eye for an eye" where the killer of the victim can be killed in return.

_diya - diyya or diyat; blood money, compensation - can only be given if the victim's family accepts it. _

_Ben kabul etmek - "I accept."  
_

_Ma'assalama - lit. trans "Go in peace". Can be used as 'goodbye'.  
_


	12. XII - Güvenli

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains themes of depression. Viewer discretion is advised.**

* * *

_"__Last night you left me and slept  
Your own deep sleep. Tonight you turn  
And turn, I say,  
"You and I will be together  
Till the universe dissolves."  
You mumble back things you thought of when you were drunk_._"_

_-Rumi_

* * *

**XII – Güvenli  
**_Summer 1511- Winter 1512 _

* * *

There was something utterly different about Krista that Ymir could not place her finger on.

It crept in the way she talked, the way she moved, the way she blinked and flicked her eyes. It reminded her of a darkness that entered a room stealthily. Unlike the stark changes of sudden day and night, it was the lonesome shadow beside the unmoving sundial. It danced around the numbers as the day continued, running away from time itself. Ymir spent her summer nights lying awake at night, deciphering the new puzzle that was Krista. When they were younger, she seemed like a bright blemish, a spot that was easy to see and read. Now, she was a riddle, and the question within itself was: had she always been this way? Ymir would not admit it, not even to herself, but she was _afraid._

This change began after the trial last March, and it was clear that what happened to Krista had pulled her from her roots to the ground. She was not just the wide-eyed, bubbly girl Ymir had once knew – no, she was _more_. So much _more_.

* * *

On a Saturday afternoon in late July, the city had been covered in foil and was put into the oven of the sky to bake. For the weekend, Ymir had been booked to oversee her guards in the Grand Bazaar. She would have complained about the unfortunate schedule, but Krista had told her that she was going to get some extra stocking done at the bookstore. Any chance to see Krista was a must for Ymir. Especially now. They barely saw each other. At first Ymir presumed that it was because she was always busy on guard duty, but as the months had progressed, she noticed Krista making herself scarcer and scarcer. It could not be seen by the naked eye, but Ymir saw it in small ways – like when Krista would excuse herself hours before sunset, or if she would _only_ read five and _not_ ten pages of Metamorphoses, which was their usual page count.

Krista was made out of sand, and in Ymir's hands, she was beginning to slip away.

"_Amun-Ra_." Jean nudged her.

Biting the inside of her lips, she sighed. "_What_?"

"You look like you're out of it."

"Watch the damn crowd, Kirstein." Ymir took her helmet off and palmed her hair back. It was slick with sweat.

"Boss-" Bertolt hesitated. They could see the armpit marks on his _mintan_. "Boss, it's too hot to patrol in here."

"He's right, Lieutenant." Marco fidgeted with his gorget. "It seems that everything is in order here, anyway."

Ymir growled. "Who gives orders – you or me?"

"You, sir, but-"

"I never took you for questioning orders, Bodt."

"Face it." Eren jeered. "We're only here so we can check up on your _kız arkadaş_."

"Did you read the fucking parchment Pixis gave us, or what? We're stationed in the _Grand Bazaar_."

"But you can override that, can't you? We've been walking up and down for _hours_."

Ymir grabbed Eren by the shoulder and pulled him to the side, roughly slamming him into a wall of rugs. The nearby merchant cursed and hopped off from his seat before skittering away.

"Why did you sign up for the city guard if you can't follow orders!?" She spat into his face. "The way I see it, you're not getting paid to _whine_."

Eren squirmed underneath her grip. "I'm right, aren't I? We're still here because of your little girlfriend."

Marco squeezed himself between the two of them and carefully parted Ymir's fist from Eren's neck. "Look, he _is _right – if I may say so, respectfully."

Ymir shook her head and turned away. "You know what? Cut that bullshit, Bodt. I hate it. If you _melez hayvan _have something to say to me, then _say it_."

The four guards were silent around her for a few minutes. That is, until Jean scratched his nose and spoke.

"Do you want to talk about the trial?"

"The _trial_?"

"You know – the one with-"

"I _know _what trial. I'm not sure as to why I would want to talk about it."

"You told us to 'cut the bullshit'." Eren folded his arms. "So _you_ cut the bullshit too."

"Alright. _Fine_." Ymir scoffed. How could telling these idiots hurt? "The trial was messed up. It messed Krista up."

"Laws are laws." Jean shrugged. "Besides, what is the _büyük anlaşma_? She won that case. We made sure of that."

"And _don't _forget." Eren pointed a finger at Ymir's chest. "I did it for the poor girl and not _you_, Egyptian."

"For that," Ymir grudgingly said, "I will be grateful."

"I know how unjust the system can be, Amun-Ra. So don't take it out on me, or any of us."

The soldiers nodded in agreement.

Marco furrowed his brows. "We respect you, sir. But we...we cannot help you if we do not understand your situation."

Ymir gave a heavy sigh. They were right. She had been harsh on them for the past couple of months. Her frustrations with Krista were insatiable. She led them further back into the Bazaar, stopping just a few stalls before the bookshop. With her hands on her hips, she watched wistfully as Krista zoomed around the inside of the area, placing books here and there.

"What that man almost did to her...it is a wound." Using the heel of her palm, she smudged an incoming tear away. "A wound that I do not know how to heal."

"Such are wounds," said Eren. "You must wait for them to scar by themselves."

* * *

During the months of September and October, Krista had all but vanished. She spent most of her time in the bookstore, surrounded by mountains of novels and hills of maps. Traces of her lingered on the docks, but she was a mere phantom of who she once was. Whenever Ymir would go up to her after work, she would shake her head and tell her she had no time, that she had to go back home. Where _was_ home? It was an odd question that Ymir asked herself often. Was home with an abusive father? Was home with a man who wanted to sell her off two years ago? Nevertheless, she respected what Krista needed and wanted to do. If she wanted her space, she had it. What she had, as well, was Ymir's heart, and the brunette did not know if she _wanted _it. It pained her to know that she was useless, that it was an invisible enemy that she could not fend off for Krista.

It drove her absolutely _mad_.

When December came, she began slacking off on the job. Her men would cover for her every single time she loafed around and slept in. When Pixis would ask for reports, they would forge her writing and say that everything was in top order. Ymir was beginning to lose herself in the maze that was Krista, and she _knew _it. All her acts of inactivity were done sober, and that was the _point. _They were acts of rebellion. Rebellion towards whom, she did not know. Perhaps to Allah, for letting such an ordeal happen to Krista. Perhaps to the man's parents, who let him be born into the world so that he could wreak havoc. Or perhaps, it was, to herself – who she ultimately blamed for not being there for Krista. It was Sasha and Mikasa who had let her go off on her own, yes, but she was not theirs to protect. Ymir had made it known before, to Krista's father, that she would protect her. And she _failed_.

Guilt was what drove her to consume an unhealthy amount of _rakı_ one night, after a small party with her men. Guilt was what drove her to walk to Krista's house, her helmet still on her head, her _mintan_ tied around her shoulders.

###

A portrait of the great Second Lieutenant:

_Bowlegged, walking in a crooked line  
Stains of alcohol upon her undershirt  
Saliva down her chin  
Her face smiling and hiccupping  
Her heart breaking and dying._

###

"K-Krista!" Ymir cupped her hands in front of her mouth and stared up at the dark window. "C-c-comedown, willya?"

No one answered, so she continued.

"I-I been fhinkin...you...you dun need someun like me, dun ya?"

Ymir laughed.

"Yeah...ahm useless, arnt I? Fuck! If only...if only I wus, I wus there in time, y'know? Nuna this woulda happened. Bassurd din' git ya, no...but...fucking...the trial...whu kun' uf messed up shit is that?"

Tears fell out of her eyes.

"Ahm...sahry...sahry, Krista. I shoulda...shoulda bin witcha. If he'd dun it, if he did...I dun fhink I woulda lived witmyself."

A light was opened. Two silhouettes argued for a good thirty seconds.

"Kri-Krista! Plea-please! Come down!"

The window opened. Ymir fell to her knees in jubilation.

"It-it's me! Yuhmeer! Me, Krista!"

"Ymir?" The voice was sleepy and annoyed, but it was her. It was _her_.

"Pl-ease, come down, tuh-talk to me!"

"Are you _drunk_?" Krista asked, sounding angry more than annoyed now.

"I juh-just hada coupluv drinks. Nuthin' you gotta worryabout."

"Go _home_, Ymir." The voice was cold. "Go _home_."

"I _am_ home," she said, her throat sticky. "Yer here, arnt ya? Home."

"I swear to Allah, if you do not go-"

"Stop!" Ymir began sobbing. "Don-don't push me away. Please."

The late breeze of the night passed. It tickled her jaw. Sounds of shuffling and protests erupted from upstairs. It whistled down to the first floor, and out into the street. Krista, in her undergarments and a thin nightgown, rushed out and slammed the door behind her, before her father could hold her back. Everything that was happening formed hazy collages in Ymir's mind, and she could not separate where one action ended and another started.

###

A pitying sight:

_Being hauled up by her arms into  
Smaller arms, smaller body  
Walked across the night  
Clutching to her, clinging  
Like a child. _

_Exactly like a child._

###

When they arrived at Ymir's house, she saw Sasha fast asleep in the other room, undisturbed by the noise they were making. In her drunken state, she did naught to stop Krista from removing her helmet and her uniform, along with the scabbard containing her sword. In her vision, things moved in slow ripples mixed with fast ones, a stop-motion scene of clay in which the colours seemed brighter and her lips seemed heavier. She did not know how, but Krista moved her to her sleeping mat, and had begun fixing her cushions and pillows behind her head. Like a newborn baby, Ymir was flapping about and crying, wiggling her fingers and mumbling unintelligible words. Sweat caked the skin of her neck. The cool liquorice scent of the alcohol had found its way to her breath. Krista did not speak a single word as she placed a blanket upon Ymir. No, she did not say anything as she stood up to leave.

Before she was out of reach, Ymir grabbed her hand. It felt like soap. "D-don't go."

The hand squeezed hers.

"Krista, I'm sorry."

"What for?" The voice was so still, so quiet.

"Fer...fer not bein' there. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Ymir."

The brunette felt an empty space in her hand. Krista had let go.

Ymir placed a fist in her mouth, frantically trying to asphyxiate the snivelling that was climbing out of her throat. The alcohol was burning a hole into her injured heart. She could count the spurts of fire that rose up to her lungs, that rose up to her eyes. Her reality pranced in her mind, spinning and swirling until it was out of control.

"Could she ever _love_ me?" Ymir asked the dark corners of her room. "_Could_ she?"

###

Unbeknownst to Ymir in her condition, Krista was still within earshot, tears streaming from her eyes.

She did not know what to say, and she did not know if it was about her, or someone else.  
She did not know if she _wanted _to find out.

* * *

January passed like an unwanted friend. Neither of them had spoken since the incident last December, and frankly, she preferred it that way. What happened that night came to her in snippets of dreams, all chopped up and blotched at the seams. The details were not black and white, but she knew enough to feel humiliated for many days and nights to come. When Krista's birthday came, Ymir took the overtime shift in order to give herself an excuse of not being with her. A loathing part of her wanted to forget Krista. It wanted to shove her away, to erase every thought of her. As strong as this part was, the fact was still that Ymir could _never _truly abandon her. She could never put the girl behind her, no, not even if her innards were being ripped from her body. Not even if the sun dissolved her skin and turned her to ash.

By February, she did not feel winter as she used to in the past years. The stormy skies brought their rains, their hails, and their distended sheets of snow, but they were not _cold_. Ymir was sure that it had nothing to do with a change in the atmosphere, or with a rift in the weather. It was because, to _her_, winter had been the only season that occurred throughout the whole year. The summer was hot and compact, the autumn mild and crusty, but these seasons all occurred under the silhouette of the winter.

On a Sunday, when she was too exhausted to work and had given in a very shabby justification of being absent, Ymir positioned herself upon the docks in front of Shadis' trading post. The _Yüz Dördüncü_ had gleefully greeted her, but when they saw her despondent shoulders and the grey bags under her eyes, they took their leave inaudibly and sailed out to the Bosphorus. She watched their boat sway with the rocking of the waves, deeply immersed in tired thought.

"I missed you on my birthday."

Ymir looked up meekly. The washed sun fixed the girl into a ghostly shade of yellow and white.

"I was busy," said the brunette, turning her attention back to the bay.

Krista sat down beside her. "Are you angry at me?"

"_Hayır_."

"Why are you avoiding me, then?"

"Because _you _are avoiding _me_."

"I can't help it."

"_Can't _you?" Ymir grated her teeth.

"No."

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

Krista gazed down. "Am I not allowed to come here?"

Ymir sighed. "Krista..."

"I have not felt like myself since the trial," the blonde said. Her fists were bunched up on her lap. "There are days where I feel like I cannot climb out of bed. I feel lost, sometimes. I cannot cry. I _want _to. I really do. But I cannot."

A pang of heaviness hit Ymir. As she listened to Krista, she connected the dots. She began to _understand_.

"There had been so many times where I wanted to...where I wanted to tell you about how I've been feeling, but...I cannot help but feel like I am a _burden_."

Ymir swallowed hard. "Is that why you've been spending so much time at the store?"

Krista nodded. "I thought, maybe if I kept myself busy, I wouldn't feel so..."

"Empty?"

"Yes...how did you know?"

"I felt like that, once. After my parents died." Ymir threw her arm around the girl, her thumb caressing her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should have...should have known sooner."

Krista tensed, but she let her head fall onto Ymir. "I have nightmares about _him_."

The blonde's voice was emotionless and devoid of _any _expression, and that was exactly what made it hurt the most. "You're safe, Krista. You know that, right?"

"I do. I do now."

"Good."

"But...just in case, could you..."

"Mmm?"

"Could you hold me a little tighter?"

Krista looked up at her. Her eyes were the puddles on a sidewalk that reflected the sky. The girl could ask for the world and Ymir realized that she would give it to her in a heartbeat. So she did as she was asked, her fingers pressing gently against Krista, clutching her firmly.

After a few moments of content silence, Krista spoke.

"Ymir, when you were...drunk..."

Ymir winced. "If I said something horrible, please dismiss it."

"No, it was...it was when I brought you to your house."

The brunette refused to say anything as she rummaged through her brain for more memories of that night. A clue as to what Krista was going to bring up nagged at her, but she could not bear to think of it being true.

Krista pressed Ymir's forearm softly. "You said: '_Could she ever love me?_'"

"Could _who _ever love me?" Ymir blushed.

"That's what I wanted to ask you. It's been eating away at me."

"Why?"

"Just curious."

"I can't think of anyone."

"Sasha?"

Ymir snorted. "You _do _realize that she is crazy for Mikasa, right?"

"Mina? Hanna?"

"Krista! They're...like my little sisters."

"_Who_, then?" Krista almost whined.

"Well, you've definitely ran out of names." Ymir tried to laugh off the red on her face.

"Would it be possible if you were...if you had been talking about _me_?"

As Krista said 'me', Ymir's ears started to ring.

"Come again?" the brunette asked.

Krista repeated the question, this time pronouncing the words slowly.

"_You_? Alright." Ymir wanted to panic, but she kept her front and continued to hold Krista calmly. "If it _was_ you I was talking about, what's your response? Could you ever love me?"

A pause. Ymir expected Krista's answer to be halfway between a stutter and a deceptive assurance, but what she said was too raw to be a joke.

"Yes, I could love you." Krista brushed a strand of hair from Ymir's eyes. "I think I already do."

Too stunned, Ymir simply gawked at her and did not say anything.

Every cell in her body urged her to kiss Krista, to feel her lips against hers. To surrender towards what they have been building from years of being the best of friends. But she knew what love was. It was not claiming what was yours, or leaning in for the longed-for peck. It was knowing what you had to be for that other person. And for now, what Krista needed was a friend. A force against the darkness of herself.

###

A fact:

_The world was built for two,  
And to love and be loved  
Was the ticket to own it. _

* * *

**NOTE: Title is - "Safe". **

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

_kız arkadaş - girlfriend  
_

_melez hayvan- mongrels  
_

_büyük anlaşma - "big deal"  
_

_rakı - an unsweetened, anise-flavoured alcoholic drink, popular in Turkey.  
_

_hayır - no  
_


	13. XIII - Çiçeğim

**XIII –Çiçeğim  
**_July-September, 1512_

* * *

Sometimes she could not believe that she had said it.

It was what kept her tossing and turning upon her bed during the nights, her sheets tangled up between her legs. They were longer somehow, as if being seventeen had influenced their growth. She would replay the Sunday of February in her mind often. It calmed her whenever she found herself floating back to what happened with the Man last year. It was what she called it, that day. It was _that_ Man who tried to do the unspeakable – it was _that _Man who she _killed _to save herself. The break between the nightmares extended as time passed, and sometimes she would go for _days _without experiencing them. Whenever she did, however, she would see his bulging eyes, his grimy nails and the pool of blood he carried with him. That was when her mind would go into safety mode, and she would force herself to think about Ymir, about every single moment they had with each other.

_Yes, I could love you. I think I already do._

Did she really say that?

Krista twirled her finger around the string of her pearl necklace. It was cool against the bottom of her collarbones. Yes, that Man carried a pool with him. But she carried Ymir with her. The necklace would never leave her side, no, not even when she took a bath. Not even when she slept. It acted as an anchor to her, a reminder that she was alive, and she was happy to be as such.

The days were challenges, but this made her even more determined to get through them. Letting Ymir know about how she felt helped a great deal. Things were getting better, and she could taste it in the air. It was the sweet, evergreen scent of summer which filled her with hope. It was the long days that stretched on for hours on end, relentless and continuous, an infinite sun that refused to set.

Krista tucked the necklace back under her robes and placed the wooden board over the counter of the shop after she exited. Her father had told her to work till night-time today, but she could care less about what he said. She turned towards the mouth of the Grand Bazaar. Before she could leave, however, a tall guard stepped in front of her.

"I'm sorry, you can't leave."

"Why not?" Krista arched a brow and placed her hands on her hips.

"You haven't paid the toll yet."

"And what toll is _that_?"

"An embrace."

Krista broke into a wide grin and hugged the guard, unable to conceal her small laughter. After they pulled away, she said, "Ymir, you can't bribe me _everytime _you get me after work."

The freckled girl snorted and took her helmet off. "But you like it."

"I never said that."

"I can read your mind, _çiçek_."

"Really?" Krista wound her arm around the girl's. "What am I thinking right now?"

Ymir led them out into the street. "You are thinking: '_Wow, Ymir's arm is so muscular. She is so strong.'_"

"I'm not thinking about that!"

"Well, one of us is lying, and it sure isn't me."

"I hate you."

"Do you _really_?"

"No."

Ymir smiled. "Come on, we're on the last page of Metamorphoses. I'm excited to see how it ends." She produced the book from her jacket.

"Race you to the docks!" Krista smirked and ran off.

As the wind whistled past her, she heard Ymir laughing behind her.

###

Krista sat propped against Ymir, the taller girl's legs around her like a protective circle. Her head rested upon the blonde's shoulder, the air from her nose prickling Krista's cheeks every now and then. As Krista read, she couldn't help but feel distracted about the way Ymir's chest pushed up against her back. She was a warm coat that smelled of sweat and the sea.

"_None shall unwrite these words: nor angry Jove, nor war, nor fire, nor flood_," said Krista, forcing her eyes to stay on the page as she felt Ymir's chin brush against the base of her neck.

"_Nor venomous time that eats our lives away,  
Then let that morning come, as come it will-_"

Her breath hitched and she stopped.

Ymir lifted her head and turned to look at her. "What is it?"

"Look." Krista offered her the book.

With her long limbs, the brunette took it from Krista, with her arms still around the girl.

Krista bit her lip. "Familiar, right?"

"_Evet_," said Ymir quietly. "My father's shield."

"I thought you might want to read it out loud for us."

"Hm." She couldn't see it, but Krista knew that the girl was smiling. "They're part of the last lines of the book."

Ymir cleared her throat.

"_When this disguise I carry shall be no more,  
And all the treacherous years of life undone,  
And yet my name shall rise to heavenly music,  
The deathless music of the circling stars.  
As long as Rome is the Eternal City  
These lines shall echo from the lips of men,  
As long as poetry speaks truth on earth,  
That immortality is mine to wear._"

Krista sighed and leaned back into Ymir, feeling the words sink into her brain. Though she should have felt bored at hearing it in her head for the sixth time in her lifetime, she did not. The way the poetry of old had tattooed itself onto Ymir's tongue made Krista shiver with provocation.

The brunette closed the book carefully and set it down beside her helmet. Krista heard her sigh.

"We finished it."

"We did." Krista nodded.

"You know – I think I finally understand it."

"Tell me."

"Ovid – he just wants to be remembered. He wants to live forever through his works."

Krista shook her head. "No, not Ovid. What does it mean to _you_?"

"Well…when I read it, it reminded me of…" Ymir paused. "…of how I've always wanted to be like my father. It's as if I've been trying to keep him alive by _being _him."

"You can keep him alive through memory, not impersonation." This was _exactly _the type of thing Krista would not say to comfort someone, but this was Ymir. She was different.

The brunette chuckled and put her hands around Krista's stomach. "After years of knowing each other, you've _finally _made a good joke."

"I've made good jokes before."

"Yeah, like, when you said…"

"Said…?"

"You know."

"Do I?"

Ymir squirmed behind Krista. The blonde smiled to herself and giggled. She realized she hadn't giggled in months until today.

"I'm just teasing. It's okay."

"So was it?"

"Was it what?"

"A joke."

"What do you think?" Krista twisted around to look at her. Ymir's face was in a state of red disarray. Her typically smoothed back hair had poked up in clumps. Her mouth was curled in a constipated way.

When she didn't answer, Krista shifted her whole body towards the girl. She placed her arms around her shoulders. Her heart was climbing out of her mouth and onto the surface of the docks, beating like the loudest drum in a victory march.

"It wasn't a joke, Ymir."

"So…what…" Ymir stuttered. "Are you…why?"

"Why…?"

"Why do you love _me_?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Krista gave a shaky laugh. "We're friends; we're supposed to love each other."

"Yes, but…I'm…not very lovable."

"Liar."

"Am not."

"You _are _lovable!"

"No, I'm not! I showed up at your house drunk!"

"That was_ one _time, Ymir."

"Still."

"What, don't you want me to love you?"

"N-yes. I-I mean – well…" Ymir scratched the back of her neck. Before she could continue her sentence, however-

"I didn't know you had a lady!"

They both turned to the voice. It was someone Krista had not met in person, but someone who she recognized by description of appearance. Embarrassed, she scrambled off Ymir and stood up, straightening her robes. As much as she wanted to feel at ease, her ingrained manners of courtesy overtook her and she gave a slight bow. Ymir groaned audibly and got up to her feet as well.

"Connie," she growled. "Out of _all _the times you could have visited."

The boy shrugged. "I was just passing by. Saw you. Saw your lady."

"She's not-we're-" Ymir threw her hands up in the air.

Krista took a deep breath. "We are friends."

"Friends?" Connie raised an eyebrow. "What kind of friends sit _really _close and look like they are whispering _cinsel ilişki _to each other?"

The blonde blushed brightly at the comment. Was that _really _how they looked like?

"I'm going to tell you _right now_, Connie." Ymir sighed. "I really appreciate the fact that you're looking after my horses, but I feel like your head is shaved right down to your brain."

"I will take that as a compliment, you _eşek_." Connie nodded towards Krista. "We have never spoken, but I'm sure Ymir has told you about me."

Krista nodded. "A pleasure to meet you, Connie."

"Likewise. I'm sorry I mistook you for being the lady of this _ahmak_. Allah knows no one can stand her for more than ten minutes."

"You are overdoing it." Ymir rolled her eyes. "Why don't I introduce you to the others so you don't have to bother me and Krista ever again?"

"Sounds good."

###

Sasha took to Connie like a fly on a piece of fruit. When one told a very bad joke, the other told an equally horrible one. Everyone else cringed at their hinging sense of humour, but Krista felt happy when she saw Mikasa smiling at them. The _Yüz Dördüncü _was grinning from ear to ear as they welcomed a new friend to prod at. Connie seemed to enjoy the attention he was getting, and at least no one pressed him or Ymir for the more personal reasons as to how they knew each other. When evening fell, their stomachs rumbled and Sasha suggested that meeting Connie called for a small celebration.

As the summer breeze ruffled through their robes and their trousers, the large group of friends headed for a nearby eatery which, according to Sasha, served the best _kebabs_ and _gözleme_. The patrons gawked at them as they came laughing and jostling like a small army of children. The biggest table that the eatery had was a table for seven, so the nine of them had to squeeze tightly together to fit. Krista's right arm bumped comfortably with Ymir, whilst her left was occupied with Mikasa's elbow.

Overhead, the stars twinkled and shot through the sky like bright petals. A balmy sensation resounded inside Krista's heart. It had been such a long time since she had been with friends like this. What she went through in the past year was a frozen and lurid wasteland composed of nothing but dark visions and sweaty mornings. Though it would be a long time until her heart could fully heal from it, being with the people she cared for gave her a revived sense of purpose in her life.

When the plates of food were brought to them, the table turned into a battlefield. As Krista reached for a skewer, a hand shot out and grabbed it. As she tested her luck for a piece of lamb, it went straight for someone's mouth. She narrowed her eyes, a plan burrowing into her mind.

"_Ben ay ışığı altında çıplak dans_!" she exclaimed.

Everyone stopped eating and gaped at her, bits of food visible in their chewing mouths. Krista quickly took this chance to scavenge the remaining pieces of _gözleme_ and stuff them on her plate.

Sasha swallowed heavily. "You…_dance naked under the moonlight_?"

"_Hay Allah!_" Connie almost choked. "I did not know women did such things!"

"We don't." Krista gave them a smug smile and proceeded to eat.

"You _embesiler_!" Ymir laughed. "She said that to distract you. Look, her plate is full of the food now!"

"Genius," Mina said. "When I grow up, I want to be like Krista hanim."

"Why am I not surprised?" Mikasa stifled a snort. "Remember the first time we played cards? She beat us."

"I still haven't recovered my dignity from that," said Tomas.

"Neither of us have." Franz nodded.

Ymir leaned herself against the blonde. "I don't expect anything less from my Krista."

"_Your _Krista?" Connie asked. "Wait – are you married? Wait…is that even allowed?"

The whole table went silent, engrossed in thought and question. Mikasa side-eyed Connie with subtle daggers, her arms crossed. The apprentices had their eyes to the sky, as if Allah was in the clouds about to give them their answers. Sasha tapped her chin with a piece of bread. Ymir had become rigid and unmoving beside Krista, staring down at the table. The blonde wanted nothing more but to shrink into her seat, to mould her body into the wood.

"Connie…" Sasha whispered. "_Nikah _is between a man and a woman."

He shook his shaven head. "My father told me that marriage is between two people who love each other."

Ymir raised her head slightly. Krista could see that her cheeks were a bright pink. "My father said that too."

"The Qur'an does not agree," said Mikasa. "But you do not need it to love."

As she dropped the last word, Krista found herself staring up at Ymir's brown eyes. They were like the ridges on the bark of a tree, forever swirling in their sturdy yet striking way.

"Funny story," Krista gave a small laugh, but it was distracted and wispy. "When I went with Ymir for her enlistment, the recruiter thought I was her wife."

Franz beamed at her. "I am not surprised, Krista hanim. You and Ymir abla look like you've been married for _years_."

"Years, huh?" Ymir gazed down at Krista, a smile playing on her lips.

Krista took a sip of her drink and muttered something only she and Ymir could hear. "_Yıllar ve yıllar_."

###

Years and years, indeed:

_Years of the wars,  
Years of the hardships,  
Years of raising a child that  
Was Krista's but not Ymir's. _

* * *

Two weeks later, in late July, Krista left her house sporting a brand new bruise on her lower left cheek. Though she wanted to stop him, she couldn't. He would not let her leave the house unless he got what he wanted – her pain. The hit was blunt, done by the back of his hand, and though it sprung tears to her eyes, she had quickly wiped them away before she could give him the full satisfaction. As she stepped off the front porch, a voice greeted her. It was dressed in a simple vest, a loose shirt and a fading smile.

"Krista!" Ymir took her hand. "Are you okay?"

The blonde nodded. They began walking away.

"Are you sure? Look at yourself - that's a new purple stain!"

"I'm fine, Ymir," said Krista. Truthfully, the sting of it had not worn off completely and she was silently wincing in agony.

The brunette did not seem convinced, but kept silent as they strolled along the streets of Constantinople. The city was awake with fluid business, the scent of _bazlama _filling the air like warm hands upon cold skin. Whenever Ymir had no posting of her own, she chose to leave command to her men for awhile and spent her free time with Krista. She would always be at the blonde's whim, following whatever she wanted to do. Walks around the city were usually what they did, since it calmed Krista and helped her forget that though she was living with an absolute monster, the world around her was still beautiful. When they were within sight of the Hippodrome, Krista stopped and ushered Ymir to sit with her by one of the benches that sat by its mouth. Two square pools glittered behind them, the water a mirror of the blue sky overhead.

"Beautiful day," Krista said.

Ymir leaned forward, her elbows on her lap, hands clasped together. "You know, I am starting to earn a good amount of money from being a guard."

"You told me you had slacked off in the past year. How are you still earning?"

"Do not worry about that. I have already come to my senses."

"Never blame yourself again."

"It's hard not to."

"Ymir…"

"I get fifteen _akçe _every week. There are, in general, four weeks in a month…" Ymir counted off her fingers. "That is sixty silvers a month. If I save enough every month, within a year and some I could buy a new house."

Krista smiled. "That _is _a good idea."

"A big house and you could live with me!" Ymir grinned.

A blush crept to Krista's cheeks. "W-what?"

"You would have your own room, of course. We could have a big living room so we can invite everyone else over sometimes!"

"I don't understand…I mean, I already have an adequate home, Ymir."

"You would never have to come home to _him_ ever again. You could do whatever you wanted. No more bruises." Ymir pointed to her cheek.

Krista brushed her fingers against the swelling spot. "But…the only way I could really live with you was if we were married. And you know we would never be able to get married."

"Why not?"

"We are both women."

"Have you forgotten that I am _Ymir bey_?"

"Well, no, but…what about my father? He would just air it out that you are a woman and…and…Allah knows what they would do to _us_." Krista lowered her voice at the last word.

"I did not think about that part." Ymir lifted the corners of her mouth. "I know my plan has a lot of knots, but trust me. I will make it happen."

"You are _sevimli, _Ymir. Too sweet."

"It's not about being sweet, Krista." The brunette's eyes turned towards her. They were serious, but they were affectionate. "It's about making sure that you are safe and happy."

The words hit her like the crashing of a tidal wave against a cliff. It was forceful and carried by inexpressible emotion. Krista wanted to drown in those words. She wanted to feel the foam of it upon her lips; she wanted to taste the salt upon her tongue.

"But I _am _happy," she said.

"If you are happy then I want to make you _happier_."

"And if I become happier?"

"Then it will be my goal to make you the _happiest_. The happiest girl in this world." The way she said this was almost a sigh – a breath of soft wind that seems as if it had been blowing in their direction for an eternity now. "If there is anything you want, I will give it to you."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Krista's heart hammered inside her chest. "Heal my bruise."

"Of course. There are a few herbs I know of – a doctor-"

"No." She traced the indigo mark with a finger. "You will place your roots here so that when he comes to strike me again, I will remember the flower you have planted and stop him."

"I-" Ymir was at a loss for words. "Are you...sure?"

Krista nodded. "If that is okay with you."

"It is okay, _çiçeğim_. It is okay."

Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the girl and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Shyly, she took Ymir's hand and clutched it firmly. For a few seconds nothing but the sun fell upon her skin, nothing but the air drifted through her bones. Then – she felt it. A tender, clumsy warmth dropped onto her cheek. At first she thought it was going to hurt – not only from the impact of lips against her bruise – but also from the fear that it was not going to be as comforting as she hoped.

But it was.

It was the love she had never received from a mother, the gentle reassurance that life was going to be alright. It was a love so light that you would think it never brought any burdens with it. The kiss on her cheek did not hurt, no – Ymir's breath was hanging upon her, her lips puckered and tender, apprehensive but caring. Krista smiled. A tear cascaded down her cheek, and she felt it take a turn around Ymir's mouth.

Afterwards, Ymir wiped the tear away from Krista's face.

They sat for awhile, silent and unmoving, but this silence was a moment of tranquillity too pure to describe.

It was there, and it simply _was. _

Such are beautiful things.

###

**_{An apology, from the world}_**

_Beautiful things are meant to be destroyed  
And it starts with the announcement of a new Grand Vizier,  
A duty that cannot be escaped,  
And a man who will never stop hunting  
For the woman who escaped him  
Three years ago. _

* * *

**NOTE: Chapter is: "My Flower". Used as an endearing term. **

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

_cinsel ilişki - sexual intercourse, sex  
_

_eşek -ass_

_ahmak - jerk  
_

_gözleme -_ _is a savoury traditional Turkish pastry dish, made of hand-rolled dough that is lightly brushed with butter and eggs, filled with various toppings, sealed, and cooked over a griddle.  
_

_Ben ay ışığı altında çıplak dans - "I dance naked under the moonlight".  
_

_Hay Allah - "Gosh!" or "My God!" along those lines_

_embesiler - imbeciles  
_

_nikah - marriage_

_Yıllar ve yıllar - "Years and years"  
_

_akçe - in silvers, Ottoman currency  
_

_sevimli - sweet_


	14. XIV - Değmek

**XIV – De******ğmek**  
**_March, 1513_

* * *

It had been exactly eleven months since the abdication of Sultan Bayezid II.

Constantinople had mourned his death after his renunciation, for he was a great man notable for evacuating Jews and Muslims during the Spanish Inquisition. Say what you will about the Empire during its peak and its growth, but you would not be able to deny that its sultans had their hearts in the right places. Most of the time. The son that had won the civil war was Selim I, whom everyone dubbed '_Yavuz'_. The people welcomed him as they would any sultan, but there was a feeling of uneasiness that surrounded his new reign.

Spring was around the corner, kicking away winter with its pollen and Mediterranean breezes. Though the weather was pleasant and the sun shone high, Ymir was one of many whom questioned what motives the new sultan held.

* * *

On a Wednesday in early March, Ymir and her guards were not given a posting, but were told to stand-by inside the barracks. When Pixis gave her this order to pass on to her men, she demanded answers but he would not budge. Instead, he dropped another suspicious bomb upon her – she had been promoted three ranks up, to _Kolağası. _Her fellow guardsmen were not surprised, considering she _was _efficient at command and was able to settle city disputes with little difficulty. Even Eren, who had antagonized her from the very start, simply shrugged.

"I do not deserve it," Ymir said. She was looking outside the window, watching new recruits train with straw dummies.

"What's that?" Jean murmured. He threw a card onto their common table. Around him sat Marco, Eren and Bertolt, staring at their cards deeply.

"_Kahretsin_." Eren placed his hand down. "I am unlucky."

"If you are talking about your promotion," said Marco, "do not doubt yourself, Ymir bey."

"For awhile, I lost myself." Ymir continued, almost absentmindedly. "I will not forget what you all have done for me."

Eren was halfway between a snort and a snicker. "Please do not cry. We would sooner drown in the Bosphorus than in your tears."

Ymir rolled her eyes. "What? Can I not thank you for covering for me when I was in a dark place?"

"No thanks are needed," Bertolt said quietly. "We are a band of brothers, are we not?"

_Brothers and a sister, _Ymir thought. "Yes. I suppose so."

"Besides, do you know what we _really _care about?" Jean asked.

"What?"

"What goes on between you and Krista hanim."

"Excuse you?"

"You spend an _awful _lot of time with her. What does that mean?"

"That...we are good friends?"

"Very funny. We are not stupid. Besides, we are all grown men here. You turned twenty last February, right?"

"Age does not cater to anything here." Ymir grunted. "There is _nothing _between Krista and me."

"Have you...you know." Eren winked. "_Açmak_?"

"Do not talk about her that way." Ymir swiveled around to glare at him. "She is not some ripe _fruit _to be eaten."

"Forgive him, Ymir." Jean took a card from the pile. "I think he is too _abaza_. He has gone too long without his right hand, I'd wager."

Eren grew red with anger. "_Ananı sikerim_, Jean."

"Do not bring my mother into this." Another card on the table. "There. I win. Four silvers each, everybody."

They sighed in defeat and rummaged in their pockets for loose change.

Ymir shook her head in amusement, but before she could return to the window, a young-faced messenger stepped into the barracks.

"Major Amun-Ra?" he asked, scanning the threshold with trembling eyes.

Ymir put her helmet on and turned to him. "What is it? Do we have orders?"

He nodded. "Meet Commissar Pixis at the _Bab-ı Ali _with four of your most trusted men. There, he will brief you."

Jean pocketed the coin he earned and belted his sword. "Why would he want us there?"

"I cannot say anymore," the messenger said.

"Come on, then," said Ymir. "We do not have all day."

###

The _Bab-ı Ali _itself was an arched gate built from strong concrete doused in white. It loomed over them with its topmost spire, painted in shimmering copper, which was a vivid gold underneath the sun. Many people have passed through this gate before, dignitaries from far-off lands and governments, politicians from privileged and wealthy hands, and priests from mosques all over the country. Ymir never imagined herself walking through this gate, but here she was, doing so.

How could the lowly daughter of a Mamluk be someone important enough to be here? Was her worth determined by where she stood or what her job was? At first, she answered yes, but then she remembered Krista. She remembered the soft kiss she gave her last year, remembered the way the girl smiled and blushed. No, her worth was determined by deeper things. Heavier things.

Once they passed the gate, they came face to face with a large building. Its windows were long and wide, the glass polished and without the single hint of a crack. The varnished doors stood up to about seven feet tall, the handles carved out of brass. Ymir entered first, with Bertolt being the last. It was an antechamber the size of a small house, with a few cushions and benches lining the sides. Pixis had his back to them, chatting with a person of rank that Ymir did not recognize.

This man had his canary hair combed neatly against his forehead. His bushy eyebrows remained immobile as he talked. However, as they got closer, he turned his head towards them and stared at them with half-lidded eyes. Pixis followed his gaze and gave a curt nod.

"Ah. Here they are." He stepped aside. "Vizier Erwin, I would like you to meet Major Ymir Amun-Ra of the _Konstantiyye Şehir Bekçi_."

Ymir extended her hand. "_Beyefendi_."

The vizier shook it firmly. "I have heard good things about you from the Commissar."

"I am afraid that I cannot say the same thing about you, Erwin efendim."

"That is no trouble at all." He waved a dismissive hand. "I take it that these are men you trust?"

"With my life." Ymir nodded. "I believe that we are to be told about the assignment now."

"It is less of an assignment and more of...an official duty." Pixis put his hands together.

"Yes. You are to preside over the choosing of a new Grand Vizier." Erwin crossed his arms. His robes swayed with his movement.

"A new...Grand Vizier?" Jean said. "Does that mean that Sultan Selim is inside the next room?"

"Correct."

"We needed witnesses that are loyal to the city," said Pixis. "And you five are just that."

"Come." Erwin opened the doors to the inner chamber. "It is just about to begin."

###

The office of the Grand Vizier was twice the size of what Ymir thought it was going to be. The ceiling was domed high, and the pillars were thick and painted with the tinge of red clay. A colourful cluster of viziers and priests were murmuring amongst themselves at the centre of the room. Some were wearing rounded _taqiyah_, others had high _kallalar_. They dispersed in two seas after catching a glimpse of Vizier Erwin, Pixis and the five guards. Ymir craned her neck and saw that at the far end of the room, elevated by a platform, was Sultan Selim, sitting on a _divan _surrounded by plump cushions. His Janissaries were like wooden figures as they guarded either side of him, four on the left and four on the right. Their faces were sculpted into a perpetual visage of unyielding metal.

The Sultan had very broad shoulders and a long moustache that swept his upper lip like a black shadow. As he caught sight of them, he sat up straight and addressed the chamber.

"_Sessiz olun!_ Everyone, be quiet. Vizier Erwin has returned."

"You may start the council now, Your Majesty." Erwin bowed. "I have brought the Commissar and his guard."

Ymir lowered herself on one knee, and her guards followed suit except for Jean, whom she had to pull down and make humble.

"_Mükemmel_." He adjusted his turban and raised his hands. "You are steadfast servants of _Türkiye_. You are my equals here in court. I have deep respect for the fighters, for those who protect our beloved country. So rise."

They did as they were told, and Pixis led them to one side of the room where they could see all the happenings of the court.

"You have all gathered here today to observe who I will choose for the office of the Grand Vizier. My father had his own, during his reign, but alas, I need someone new who will gratify _my _interests and the interests of the capital." Sultan Selim pointed to the crowd. "Some of you are candidates. You would count yourself lucky to be chosen."

"I'm not so sure about that," whispered Eren to Ymir. "They call him the 'Grim' for a reason."

"I have mulled it over, and I have made my decision. This man is more than capable, and the wealth of the city is his." The Sultan lifted his voice. "His origins are Bulgarian, yes, from the Balkans, but he was born and bred here. May you step out of the crowd, Vizier Rod Reiss?"

Controversial hums rumbled through the crowd as people shuffled about to let the man through. Ymir narrowed her eyes as she tried to make out the face of the moving identity. Once he left the conglomerate of arms and heads, he bowed towards the Sultan and turned around to look at the crowd.

Ymir inhaled sharply. Her eyes shot wide open in disbelief. It could not be who it was. It could _not_.

He was a stubby man with dark hair and the saddest excuse for a moustache. He had beady eyes which gleamed secretively as he twiddled his thumbs together. He was Krista's father.

"That's...that's-" Bertolt started.

"He was at her trial, wasn't she?" Jean said. "I thought his last name was _Lenz_."

"What has Krista been holding back from me?" Ymir asked herself, her mind struggling to make sense of what was happening.

"Maybe she doesn't _know_," said Marco. "From what I saw at her trial, they didn't seem like they were on good terms."

"They aren't." Ymir felt undeniably and rightfully conflicted. "Maybe you're right."

"I declare Rod Reiss the _Vizier-i-Azam_," said the Sultan. "He will act as my prime minister, with absolute power of attorney. The imperial seal is his, and with it he is able to assemble other viziers together in order to attend the affairs of the state."

"I am _honoured, _Your Majesty." The newly-appointed man climbed the platform and kneeled to kiss his feet.

Sultan Selim retracted himself. "That will not be necessary, Reiss _pasha._ Please. Stand to my right."

Rod Reiss brushed off his _kaftan _and took his place beside the Sultan. He was acting modest, but Ymir saw through to him. He was a slimy, horrible man who hated his daughter, who disrespected her and abused her. The brunette's jaw clenched. How could she be loyal to a power that was _him_?

"Commissar Pixis. Bring forth the representatives of the city guard."

Pixis signaled for Ymir and the other four to move in front of the crowds. Grudgingly, she did as was commanded. A scowl erupted on her face.

"I understand that one of you was promoted posthaste in accordance to this hearing."

"It is _I_," said Ymir. "I was promoted."

"Ah. Of course. Prior to this official business, Reiss pasha had convinced me that in times of war, we would need an able-bodied and trustworthy man. He commended _you _for your service."

"I am not sure I...understand, Your Majesty." Ymir's eyes uneasily shifted between Rod Reiss and the Sultan.

"Let it be known," he announced, "that I plan to land a decisive strike towards the Şafavids of Iran in the following year."

An alarming wave of chattering echoed through the room.

"Their dynasty openly rebels against ours, and in order to keep our power, we must crush their influence." He gestured towards Ymir. "Men like him will be conscripted into battle when the time comes. It is men like him who I trust with the fate of our Empire."

Ymir's blood ran cold. She felt her heart pounding her ears. In her uneasiness, she found herself staring straight into the repulsive eyes of Rod Reiss. He was smiling at her sweetly – in the way that too many sugars in your stomach can make you feel _sick_. She staggered back in nausea, and her men reached out to keep her steady. No one else noticed her as they were all in an uproar. The majority were shouting in agreement over his decision, but some were voicing their concerns submissively.

"It is what he planned all along, the _pezevenk_." Ymir forced herself to stand up straight. "He is going to send me to war."

None of them replied, but they all nodded silently. It was as obvious as it looked, and there was nothing they could do.

###

_Nothing they could do, no,_  
_Nothing they could do when Ymir was being dragged away,  
Nothing they could do when Krista was being held back screaming,  
Nothing they could do when the Ox of Constantinople came back._

* * *

Over the past week, Ymir was filled to the very brim of worry. One more drop of anxiety and she would tip into herself and spill. She could barely comprehend what had occurred, and as much as she wanted to tell Krista, she would get cold feet everytime she tried. To be sent off to a far-away place, distant from the girl – it caused a gaping rift in Ymir's heart. At some point, Eren had caught her tearing up in the barracks but she played it off as an allergy. He did not seem convinced, but thank Allah, he did not tell anybody. She had never thought about death before. The Afterlife was a topic she never discussed in her head. Her dead parents were simply _dead_. They did not belong elsewhere save for her heart and mind. If she was to fall in battle, would she live? Would she die? And if she did, what would happen? Would that be the end of everything she worked for?

These were questions she did not want to answer, but in her heart, she knew a few realities. Krista would be without her. She would keep living with her father, forever fearing the amount of bruises she would have by the time of her own death.

On one Thursday afternoon, Ymir found herself sitting on the steps of Krista's house, waiting for the girl to come back from the Bazaar. She decided that even if she could not tell her about the incoming campaign of the Sultan, she would still confront her about the mystery regarding her father. At half past three, she saw the girl walking towards her, with a book in her hand. Her robes were the colour of rosewood, and her silken hair was tied together by a piece of lace. She was _beautiful_. Ymir would tire of seeing sunsets, but she would never tire of seeing her.

"Ymir!" Krista ran to her and gave her a hug. "You told me you were busy this week. I did not expect to see you until the next."

Ymir froze and dishearteningly rubbed her back. "I'm sorry for being sparse lately, there has been...there has been a pressing matter that I was too scared to tell you about until now."

Krista's eyebrows met as she sat beside her. "What's wrong?"

"Last week, I was at a meeting, of sorts. With the Sultan."

"The _Sultan_? Was it something good? Did he give you an award for something?"

"No." Ymir gulped. "Nothing like that."

"Then...what is it?"

"Your father – do you know that he is the Grand Vizier now?"

"_What_?" Krista's voice mounted. "What does this have _anything _to do with him?"

"He was appointed by the Sultan last week, Krista."

"But I did not...he did not tell me anything." Krista dropped the book on the bottom step. "To be appointed you would have to be a vizier..."

The girl gritted her teeth and slammed a fist against her lap. "How could I have been so _blind_?"

"What do you mean?" Ymir curled her hand around Krista's fist and caressed her knuckles.

"All my father does is...is go to the richer districts and mooch up to the politicians and the priests. I should have _seen _it, Ymir. He _bought _his way to the top."

"He is a _worm_. Do not blame yourself for not knowing." Ymir held her hand tightly. "There is another thing, however. When he was introduced, the sultan called him 'Reiss', not 'Lenz'."

"I..." Krista gazed up at her. There were tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Ymir..."

"I am not angry." Ymir softened her voice. "I am not who I once was, jumping to conclusions too quickly. Please, tell me."

The blonde's mouth trembled. In her face Ymir could see layers upon layers of lies falling off, a whole mask of alabaster stripping itself away to reveal a profile of iron.

"My father never wanted anyone to know about me. He loved my mother a long, long time ago, but they were not in union before the eyes of Allah. I am his greatest shame. Even rumours of the smallest ripples can create the ugliest of waves. When I was younger, the neighborhood kids, they would...they would be so cruel to me and I never understood why."

Ymir leaned in closer, but stayed silent as she listened.

"He gave me a different name to live by, so that I would not dishonour him. _Krista Lenz_. She has always been a meek girl, an obedient one, but lately...she is not anymore."

"When you stopped him from hitting you at the trial two years ago," recalled Ymir. "When you...you asked for a kiss in the past summer."

"I am rebelling against him in my own ways." She sniffed and rubbed away her tears. "But I owe it to you, Ymir."

The freckled girl shook her head. "You owe nothing to me until you live under your real name again. It is rightfully yours to claim."

"I have not thought of it in years, much less have spoken it."

"Try, _çiçeğim_." Ymir urged. "You must try."

"I will whisper it to you, if that is okay."

"It is."

The blonde placed her hands on either side of Ymir's cheeks and ran them down to her neck, until she stopped at her shoulders. She inclined her head forwards and spoke one word. Every letter captivated Ymir. Every letter sent melodious notes inside her heart. Smiling, she swaddled her arms around the girl's waist and pulled her close. Their noses met at the tips. For the first time, Ymir realized, she finally understood what was truly behind those blue eyes. She was an ocean of twenty-thousand leagues, vast and wide, and Ymir had only waded within ten feet of her.

"Your name. It tastes good upon my tongue."

"You tease me too much."

"Promise me that you will never hate yourself." Ymir squeezed her gently. "Never again."

"_Söz veriyorum. _Never again."

###

**_{The thoughts of Historia Reiss as she embraced Ymir}_**

_'__The world does not want me, but if _**_she _**_is the world, then I am wanted.'_

* * *

**NOTE: Chapter is: "Worth"; other translations include (Merit, Touch, Kiss)  
**

**NOTE 2: The Grand Vizier of the Ottoman Empire was basically the de facto prime minister of the sultan. Viziers were political advisors/ministers.  
**

* * *

**GLOSSARY**

_Kolağası - rank; Major  
_

_kahretsin - damn  
_

_a__çmak - slang; lit trans: "to open", fig trans: "to have sexual intercourse with a virgin"  
_

_abaza - 'hungry' for sex; horny_

_Ananı sikerim - slang; "I'll fuck your mother".  
_

_Bab-ı Ali- seat of the Grand Vizier  
_

_Konstantiyye Şehir Bekçi - Constantinople City Guard_

_taqiyah - a short, rounded skullcap; often worn for religious purposes._

_kallalar - kalla: singular; a tall, almost cone-shaped hat_

_divan - couch; a divan also refers to a "council."_

_Sessiz olun - "Be quiet"._

_Mükemmel - excellent, superb  
_

_T__ürkiye - Turkey  
_

_Vizier-i-Azam - Grand Vizier_

_Pasha - title used for a high-ranking official, such as the Grand Vizier, a Field Marshal or an army Lieutenant._

_pezevenk - fucker_

_Söz veriyorum - "I promise".  
_


End file.
